War Bride
by julifolo
Summary: Complete. John and Anna Sheridan during the Earth-Minbari War. Plotted during 3rd season, so it's inconsistent w the Cavelos novel & ItB
1. October 8, 2245 Alone in the Night

**War Bride  
  
Disclaimer and Introduction**  
  
======  
Standard disclaimers. The background and jms characters belong to PTEN/jms; the new characters belong to me. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. This story was heavily influenced by jms & other net comment, circa 1996, about the EM War and the _Black Star_ in particular. Therefore it was plotted and mostly written before spoilers for "In the Beginning" started appearing. That means that although this story was conceived as a gapfiller it is now an AU going in a totally different direction. The president of EA is a man named Auden, etc., and much other invented detail.  
  
Most importantly, I have the _Black Star_ incident happening at the end of the war rather than near the beginning, with a different motivation for EA to have spent "a considerable amount of time and effort making [Sheridan] a hero in the public's eye" (IiRT). Statements in the dialog from "Points of Departure" led me to this timeline conclusion. I quote this dialog at the beginning of Chapter 7. jms later (in post-"In the Beginning" net comment) stated the dialog details were, in effect, typos. I still had fun treating them as the real thing. I hope you will, too.  
  
At the start of my project I received much help from various friends. Many thanks to Angel, Alison, Rebekah, Becky, Anne, Adele, Les, and Dave who made comments on early drafts and/or answered questions about nuclear explosions in a vacuum. Colonel Chee and the _Boyington_ appear in chapter six by the permission of Les McBride; another of her characters has an anonymous cameo in chapter twelve. Thank also to Susan, who helped overcome my writers block, and more recently to Ellen, Morag & especially Mary and Rose, who suggested revisions which I believe helped my achieve intended mood much better. Thank you all! Lastly, I want to acknowledge a debt of additional inspiration to Becky, _Building Bridges_, and Rebekah, _Home Fires Burning_, for helping me visualize ship life. Comments welcome.  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
julifolo@ux1.cso.uiuc.edu  
  
  
**Chapter 1. Date: 8 October 2245 (four months after Dukhat's death)**  
  
  
-*-  
  
_"Once during the war my fighter was disabled. I sat there -- radio out, power out -- for eight hours which seemed like eight years. I didn't think I'd ever see another living being. Well, I was rescued, obviously ... "_

John Sheridan, _There All Honor Lies_

  
-*-  
  
  
It was a white light that surrounded him, calling him to its unity, calling him to the peace of the grave. All that he was drifted and blended into a single resting pearl. All that might have been flew away in tatters.  
  
Stars shone in a dark night, rain on the roof, a warm touch of fingers on his neck. All blended into one as he released, a small spiraling regret escaped behind him as he fell inward: Earth, teaming billions, hung on its fragile thread.  
  
Would it, had it fallen as he would, he had failed?  
  
Time, too, fell away.  
  
-*-  
  
  
"REROUTE FAILED."  
  
John cursed at the display. He was running out of options. His power was fast bleeding away and the emergency backup had already been taken out. The beacon was dead, the radio was out. Every other moment another screen went dead as the power outage spread. As far as he could tell there was nothing intrinsically wrong with the radio, except the screen had long since gone blank.  
  
If he didn't get a signal out, he could only be found by direct search. Space was filled with wreckage and he would look like another piece of dead metal to the long-range scanners. He made one more attempt to power the radio and lost probably more than half of what little he had left. He gave up at last, and put all remaining external power into a final thruster burst. He got five percent, and it only lasted four seconds.  
  
It added a snail's difference, but it was at right angles to the direction of attack of the Minbari ship. So now his drift was separating him from the shrapnel surrounding him. Maybe it would be enough to register. If there was anyone out there looking.  
  
Then there was the waiting. His fighter was dead in space and all he had was what was left in his suit. When fully charged it was three days worth of life support, but -- if he could trust the meter on his arm -- a lot had escaped when the emergency system had been hit. Maybe the failsafe would hold.  
  
All he could do was wait and hope.  
  
_Arko'll come through,_ John told himself. But that was only if he still survived. If the Captain was going to come through, he would have been rescued by now. It was already over an hour since the attack.  
  
It had been an attack, not a battle. The Minbari war cruiser had appeared without warning. The _Eagle_ was still deploying fighters when the shooting began.  
  
He remembered what he saw of the firefight, out of the corner of his eye. The ship was hit bad. It would have been a sitting duck for the next pass. John's starfury had been hit in the same barrage and it had taken him long minutes to regain control. He might have blacked out for a time. While in the tumble it was impossible to understand anything happening outside. He made regular glances for fear of collision. The lights of battle had been far away, and soon ceased. When he finally slowed the tumble to a tolerable level, he was unable to see much against the starfield.  
  
_They're dead._ It was a dull pain pulling him toward despair. _They're probably all dead. That leaves me, alone in the night._  
  
Rescue would be nice. He couldn't count on it, though.  
  
His situation was helpless. All he had left to do was wait for the improbable chance of someone else finding him and pulling his ass out of the fire. All he had left to do was try to live as long a possible to better his chances. The odds were he was going to die.  
  
He fought back against the adrenaline rush. Panic would do nothing but use up oxygen. He tried to force himself to calm. Still, his instinct resisted. There must be something he could do -- but there wasn't. All he could do was wait.  
  
_Oh, right. Smile and do the Buddha bit. Doesn't that sound fun?_  
  
He clamped his mouth shut, tight, against his racing heart and tried to relax his fisted hands.  
  
_I'm not dead yet,_ he told himself. _I am not going to die screaming._  
  
A cartoon picture presented itself to his imagination. St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. "Lieutenant John Sheridan," the bearded man said in a serious tone. "What do you have to say for your life?"  
  
All the cliches, all the fears, all the warnings. He had chosen this life, sought it out. He could have been a diplomat, like Dad. There weren't any other military in the family.  
  
-*-  
  
  
_So, hot shot pilot, what do you have to say for yourself?  
  
Live hard, die young.  
  
My body's whole, that's something. The ID will be positive ... if there's anyone to find me. Mom will want a gravestone for the family plot even though they'll send the coffin into a star._

JOHN JOSEPH SHERIDAN  
27 March 2216 - 8 October 2245

  
_I'd rather my soul stay there, he thought, under the oaks._ He could feel the cool breeze again in his memory. _This wasn't what I expected when I joined Earth Force nine years ago. Back then, there had been nothing in the future but bright promise. We had helped defeat the Dilgar, Earth Alliance was expanding and the military was the fastest route to the top of the hill. Or six feet under (metaphorically speaking).  
  
Oh, damn,_ he complained. _It's not fair. Where did this war come from? Arko didn't, doesn't know._ The way he acted at the briefings seemed to be "don't know," not "can't say".  
  
-*-  
  
  
John looked again at the time display on his forearm. Faint red numbers glowed in the dark. Fifteen minutes less air than the last time he checked. The power that ran the clock wasn't exactly a waste of resource: The battery was small. There was no way to translate the electricity to more air.  
  
Playing "how long can I hold off until the next time I look?" was a bad waste of mind time, and an invitation to make his heart race. He reviewed the configuration. Wires led back to the oxygen supply, but there was nothing vital underneath, and it would crush rather than break. There would be no sharp edges capable of puncturing his suit. With the tips of his gloves he pressed down on the display panel until he felt it give way. The display froze: some line segments dropped out, it spelled something meaningless. He lay his head and arms back, relaxed his muscles, closed his eyes and tried to breathe shallow.  
  
-*-  
  
He was proud of himself.  
  
He hadn't hit anything yet. (How long a time was "yet"? He had no way to tell.) His hands were relaxed. His eyes were closed ... most of the time. The fear was still there. He needed a happy place to wait in.  
  
He let his mind wander, searching through his memory, panic following behind. The flutter-fall was slowed by the sensation of fingers on his skin. He clung to the memory, defined it. His breathing slowed and went shallow as he let it enfold him.  
  
_Love. Yes._ Why hadn't he seen it? Why couldn't he admit to it? Where had all his ambition gotten him except here, to die in the dark? What was the worth of all the plans when war would come and shatter everything?  
  
Love. He drank of it. _Who?_  
  
It was a trick question. Mr. Hot-Shot Pilot, Cocky and ambitious, he had had his pick of women and had often done so.  
  
_So who?_  
  
Or was it illusion? Was he only grasping for some sort of meaning?  
  
He felt the embrace again, felt the comfort filling his soul. It was real, he told himself, just unknown.  
  
The touch was familiar. Not one of the one night stands. If it was then he _was_ kidding himself.  
  
It was a light touch, most times, though it also could be strong and demanding. It was something joyful as well as need and release. Laughter. Laughter was a lot of it. _Oh, God -- _  
  
He knew.  
  
Long brown hair, laughing eyes, broad mouth. Feet running down the hall, laughter following. "Stop bothering me," he would call. "I'm trying to study." And he would try to ignore the knowledge that she and Lizzy were talking about him behind his back.  
  
_Oh, God, Anna._ He laughed, laughed happily, forgetting the darkness outside. His eyes were closed and he floated outside of all. _Mom was right. Mom was always right._  
  
Anna Mathieson. Lizzy's best friend, and the bane of his existence.  
  
It was Anna. Anna who had been playing the same futile game that he had been playing. What they both craved was power and excitement, no time for commitment. What other motive could have drawn him into such a dangerous life? (Life hadn't seemed dangerous when he enlisted.) What other motive could have drawn her in as well, stalking lovers among soldiers?  
  
The first time had started at _Luna's_, in San Francisco, an officer's haunt. He hadn't recognized her; the bar was dark and he wasn't expecting anyone from home to be there. He was looking for a pickup. She had responded with interest, arms around his neck. A sensual touch.  
  
Then she whispered a teasing giggle "Now, Johnny. What would Mom say?" and he knew her. He suddenly straightened as if it had been Liz he'd found there, ... and had overheard some other hot shot delivering his same line. But his protectiveness soon dissipated. She was legal, he calculated, though not by much. It was also soon clear that she was experienced. Within the hour he had had her leaned up against the wall and they were kissing hungrily. Soon after that they left for his hotel room and played long into the night.  
  
The next time he visited home she entered the house first, his hand on her back. Mom and Dad figured it out (this wasn't the first girl he'd brought home), and there had been some nervous laughter amid the teasing. They left to go dancing and it wasn't a surprise that they didn't show up again until the next morning for brunch.  
  
Mom shook her head and was tolerant. Next visit she kept her mouth tightly shut and John tried not to notice. He had brought someone else.  
  
Since then ... well, they both had ambitions. Since her skills were in archeology it was too soon to enlist (she needed to finish her degrees), and she might go further in the civilian sector. The expedition companies were beginning to expand. So they made no plans and continued their casual habits and other lovers. But when they did wind up in the same town they were always happy with each other's company. Maybe he didn't want to admit how much he looked forward to those rendezvous.  
  
Not until it was too late.  
  
-*-  
  
  
_How long has it been? _It felt like years. He kept his eyes closed. There was nothing to see but stars processing through the weird epicycles of his residual tumble.  
  
The odds weren't good.  
  
Soon, now.  
  
_Anna, can you help me with this? (I'm sorry you're never know.) Anna, love, could you help me to die?_  
  
It was a white light that covered him, smothered him, his burial shroud.  
  
Fingers pulled at the threads that had been floating outwards, and they began to tangle and weave.  
  
-*-  
  
  
The white light ... moved. That seemed odd. Slowly the meditative trance fell apart. It was not one light within, but several outside. He could feel (feel!) the fighter being pulled by a grappler. Someone trying to get his attention; his radio still dead. _How is your air supply?_ He could see hand signals through the window, suited crew outside, caught in the spotlights of the rescue tug. They were far from the nearest star, so there was no general light. The markings he could see were ambiguous. Earth Force, but he didn't know who.  
  
_Did you need the medic now? How much air?_  
  
He looked down at the broken display. _Am I going to get in trouble for willful damage?_ he almost giggled. His air didn't seem to be stale. He motioned a "fine, maybe." _They'll be able to tell me when I get in how close I cut it._  
  
  
**=== end chapter one ===**


	2. October 2245 Proposal

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
  
**Chapter 2. Date: October 2245 (four months after Dukhat's death) **  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"You have quite a brother there, Liz."_

Anna Sheridan, _Revelations_

  
-*-  
  
"Congratulations," Dr. Clary said. He was one of the doctors from _Djakarta_, the ship that had answered _Eagle's_ distress call. "Near as we can tell, you were on the low end of oxygen consumption. That's unusual for someone as tall as you are."  
  
"How much time did I have left?"  
  
"A few hours." Clary shrugged and smiled broadly. "Long enough." John got the impression Clary was happy he wasn't looking at a corpse. "The others we rescued had better luck with their emergency supplies, _and_ radios. So they got picked up first because they were yelling. It's the way things go. You did good."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Thank _you_."  
  
John vacated, letting Clary get back to his work. The injuries were mostly burns, it looked like. The medlab was overflowing; the patients were all his crew mates. He did and he didn't want to know who was on the beds. Some of them weren't going to make it.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Walking the corridor, he wondered where he could find a vibe shower, and hoped there was a laundry unit in the same room. He had left his spacesuit in a neat pile in the locker room area. Everything else he owned he was wearing: his flight suit. It -- and he -- was pretty ripe.  
  
_Djakarta_ had been built from the same basic plan as the _Eagle_. It was an eerie feeling -- ghostlike -- to be walking near-familiar corridors when just under the surface of getting-the-job-done efficiency his emotions were in turmoil: his ship was dead, he saw it dying. He was a dead man walking in a dream.  
  
He tried to remember anything he knew about this ship. Anthony Milborn was the captain. John had that confirmed by overheard conversation, as Milborn's crew reacted to orders coming over the comm system about the rescue. Like every other command officer in Earth Force, he'd served in the Dilgar Wars. He'd been part of the attack on Balus. Making rescues there as well. It seemed to be a habit.  
  
John made guesses, continued walking. People passed him from both directions. Earth Force uniforms, overlapping orders and replies from the comm speakers. None of it applied to him. Amid the unfamiliar faces, he saw fellow _Eagle_ pilot Dennis Ireland turning a corner.  
  
"Denny?" he asked, too quiet for the surrounding clamor. He repeated the name in a loud call, losing control of his voice.  
  
Ireland turned. John moved faster, dodging around strangers, caught the man in a bear-hug. He was taken back to reality. It was a strange ship, but part of home and family remained.  
  
"_God_, Denny, what happened -- "  
  
" -- There you are!"  
  
Their words overlapped, " -- does anyone know what happened?"  
  
It was the first ride down the roller coaster of tears mixed with joyful reunions. The _Djakarta_ crew had been near overwhelmed, racing against time, trying to save everyone they could. Ireland had been brought in four hours earlier, had already had several reunions, and was emotionally on a more even keel. He walked John the rest of the way to the shower room and told him the ropes and what news he could as he cleaned up.  
  
The _Eagle_ was down and dying. Arko had sent a narrow-beam distress signal toward Earth Force Command when the attack began. The Minbari had not returned for the kill. Perhaps they were hovering in their "invisible" ships, observing the human's strength and rescue resources. There was no sign that any of the Minbari fighters had been hit, much less destroyed.  
  
About half the crew was saved, from what Ireland could tell. John had been one of the last, and Ireland figured all the _Djakarta_ crew were finding now were bodies. The captain (their captain) was dead.  
  
"How?" John could scarce believe it. He had seen the _Eagle_ torn by explosions. But if Denny was here, if there were survivors, how could Captain Arko not be alive?  
  
Ireland looked away as he explained, his voice heavy with unjustified guilt. The bridge of the _Eagle_ had been well protected, but Arko had been hurt in the rush to get all the injured into "safe" areas, and he'd been lost. What was left of the old ship was a dangerous place, poison fumes and jagged metal. All they could do was explode what remained when the search teams were done.  
  
"They strapped him down where they found him, closed his eyes and crossed his hands on his chest. He'll go down with the ship, along with the unrecoverable dead."  
  
"She's for skuttle?" Less for the minbari to learn from.  
  
"Yeah. Milborn had mines set with a short fuse. He'll start the countdown when we warp out."  
  
-*-  
  
  
It would be another five hours before the final lists would be posted, and the wait time was surreal. More reunions, more control each time. Maybe it would be better to say increasing numbness. Coffey and Dieker had the preliminary list on the wall, but he didn't look at it as he checked in. Medlab had already sent down his name, which he verified. There was a faint dead smile in Dieker's eyes as she changed the flag on his name to green. Coffey asked if he'd seen McCord. He hadn't.  
  
It was crowded. Shuffling between the mess and assembly area was difficult, and some people were vainly trying to find hidden corners to collapse. These were most of the unconfirmed that Coffey was trying to track down.  
  
The _Eagle's_ crew complement was 400. On a good day he knew everybody's name, and could match names with faces of the support and technical crew. It was not a good day. All anyone could know were the people they talked to. Seeing wasn't always believing. Royden Tolzien from _Djakarta_ looked like repair tech Kevin Hajek from _Eagle_, at least from the corner of his eye. So when he'd read Hajek's name on the "dead" list he'd gone to sleep thinking 'that can't be right.'  
  
-*-  
  
  
Gamma Station.  
  
He was starting over with nothing but his flight-suit … and his life, and his memories. It had been two days to the station, the funeral on the evening of the first day. It was the last gathering of the _Eagle_ crew, but they had already begun to fragment under the strain of losing Captain and ship and nearly half the complement. One hundred eighty-six killed in battle, another twelve had died in medlab after rescue and four more were still in critical condition. Funerals shouldn't be lists of names. They all stood, some weeping, and 'family' fell apart. The survivors would be reassigned to twenty different ships.  
  
John had a few days layover. His former crewmates were scrambling to accumulate new kits. What he got for himself was some time alone on a terminal and he wrote letters.  
  
It was time for reflection, and he though about what he had discovered, floating in that white light in the darkness. _When I lay there thinking I would die,_ he wanted to tell Dad, _I had one regret -- _  
  
-- The censors would not let him write that. He couldn't mention the attack, and he didn't want to worry them anyway. But he could tell Dad his hope, not telling him why he felt it: _When this is over, I want to marry Anna, if she'll have me. Ambition isn't important any more._ He couldn't say _Don't tell Mom; I don't want to make her cry._ He'd have to tell both or neither, so he left it. _Keep an eye on her for me, can you?_ he asked.  
  
What could he write to Anna? _I've had time to think out here. Sorry I forgot a Christmas card -- _he began, never minding that she hadn't send one to him. _My birthday adventure was a "Rolling Good Time." The only thing that could have made it better was if you had been there with me. Scott Borgia had found a Latina restaurant with a back room be could monopolize and Denny, Kevin Hajek (he's one of the repair crew for our 'furies), Wayne and Robin were there, and more as the night went on ..._  
  
John looked at the time mark and sighed. It had taken him fifteen minutes to complete four sentences. It was hard to write about the leave as if it were fresh in his memory. So much had changed in six months.  
  
His squad mates had talked Captain Arko into changing the itinerary so his leave could be on his birthday, not four days late, and it was no big deal to bend the schedule and route that way. The friends he had laughed and joked with -- half had been killed and half he might never see again. All the survivors were being reassigned to different ships.  
  
_I hope your studies are going well,_ he said in closing. _I'll write again soon. Always your friend, John._  
  
-*-  
  
  
_Who the hell cares if there were twenty different Narnish words to explain why one Narn hated another Narn? I should be completing that field report, not trying to memorize the sliding hierarchy of who one should assassinate first. What a brutal language!_  
  
Anna came in from classes exhausted. It had been a hard time concentrating. She put off her studying to check mail.  
  
A letter from John Sheridan. At first she was surprised, and then she remembered: Earth Alliance was at war. The media didn't want to talk about it much, and that was as frightening as anything else. There had been no formal declaration from the Minbari, it took a long time for anything beyond rumors to come out of the Senate. Each rumor contradicted the last: They attacked. No, we attacked. Why would we attack?  
  
No one knew a thing.  
  
Life tried to go on as normal. What else was there to do? But it had been a cold certainty growing in her belly: Nothing would be the same. _... And suddenly Scott had ad lib a material science explanation for why there had to be at least two sub-basements to balance the tower's height. It's funny what crazy things 'situations' can lead to ... _What did John care about materials science? It was enough that ships could fly. His letter was trying to talk cheerfully as if nothing were wrong. For all he was trying to avoid the subject, that avoidance made the war all the more oppressive.  
  
John, it seemed, had had a bout of serious thinking. _That was what life was like for a soldier in war, wasn't it? In peace time you made plans. Learned stuff, prepared. All you could do in war was be alert and wait. Daydream about the future and play "might have been."_  
  
And John -- Hot Shot Johnny -- had decided he'd rather be married.  
  
She knew John didn't mean the letter as a proposal. He was being considerate, rational. Now was not a time to ask such a thing. But it was easy for her to read between the lines to know his intention. It was a sudden flutter inside her to realize she had been waiting for this, had been trying to call up the nerve to take the first step. _I should have bought him that card._  
  
She started to write an answer: yes. _Yes, I will love you,_ she thought. _Come home to me._ But then she read again the words there on the screen: _keep alive._  
  
_How can I ask that?  
  
How can I be so selfish as to ask him to put his life before what might have to be done?_  
  
All the fear of the war came back to her, redoubled, crushing her new-found happiness. It might be that he must die to defend Earth. She swallowed, not knowing how she might continue under such a weight of regret and might-have-been.  
  
Slowly she deleted the words. There was nothing else for it: she could not ask for such a promise. She deleted the words, and then the whole letter.  
  
She remembered a night in Denver, and wiped away her tears. Tears never helped.  
  
She put her hands on the keyboard and began to write again. _Yes, John, I'll marry you. If I can._  
  
-*-  
  
  
John signed in at his station after the 1500 mail dump. He was on the _Courir_ now, training his wing on what little had been learned in the _Eagle_ attack. There was a letter from "Anna", and the system supplied her last name, "[Mathieson]."  
  
He smiled. That was fast._Dearest John,_ the letter began. _In these perilous times we should not be shy to speak what we know to be true._ His eyes opened wide as he read the rest of the paragraph. _What is unsaid today, Fate may not let us say tomorrow. It's all right to say "I love you." ... _  
  
He began to laugh. _You're not a subtle man, Johnny,_ he told himself. _Rather transparent, I'd say._ He laughed again, but softly. He didn't want to make explanations to the curious just yet.  
  
Further on her phrasing became less vague, then she popped the question without ambiguity. _I remember how you held me that night. The mountains so bright in the moonlight. A sweet memory. I want to tell you how happy it made me feel when I understood your hesitant words, that you wanted to wed me. How honored I was that you chose me._ The letter continued for some length and ended on a prayer. _May God stay near to you, my love._  
  
He was happy she wasn't angry at him for asking, even though he hadn't realized he had. He was happy he'd made the right choice. He wondered if she had heard him when he had called to her, or maybe the war had changed her, just as it had changed him, falling on them both without a warning. It was some kind of stupid cosmic joke that they felt this strong and were too stubborn to admit it. At least now they knew. It was a melancholy comfort.  
  
_Denver, huh?_ he mused. _Not San Francisco?_ "Married." He tried the word. Liked it. _Dearest Anna,_ he began.  
  
  
**=== end chapter two ===**


	3. December 2245 Marriage Plans

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 3 Date: December 2245 (five months after Dukhat's death) **  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"She was my friend for a lot longer than you were married to her." _

Liz Sheridan, _Revelations_

  
-*-  
  
  
Anna was still standing at the curb when the taxi turned the corner. This was the Sheridan City House. Down on the plains was the Farmhouse that felt like her second home. When "Dad" -- David Sheridan -- had stopped doing diplomatic field work in favor of a desk assignment he bought a second house in Arvada, west of Denver, so he could commute; Denver had one of the branch departments, hard-linked to Geneva.  
  
They kept the older house as a vacation retreat, renting the crop land to neighbors. That's where Anna had spent her childhood, that's where she had met Liz. John's sister Elizabeth was still living with her parents as she finished up her Masters at the University of Colorado. Anna was a graduate student at the Institute of Language and Archeology nearby.  
  
_Not quite familiar,_ Anna admitted to herself, looking up the short, shoveled, walk at a half-bricked building that seemed hemmed in by its neighbors. The snowy lawn was small, only one tree in front ... no fields. _It's still friendly territory._ She walked up to the door and pressed the doorbell. Carol answered.  
  
"Ah, hello Mrs. Sheridan," she said in a small voice. "Is Lizzy home?"  
  
Carol said "yes" and started to ask why Anna was here, but Anna sped up the stairs looking nervous as a teenager. She and Liz were still upstairs when David got home for dinner.  
  
"Anna's here," she told him. "She was acting strange."  
  
David smiled, and hugged his wife close. "I think our girl figured out how John feels about her."  
  
Carol tried not to hope too much as she called the girls down for dinner.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Anna helped set the table like it was old times. All that was missing was one more seat at the table.  
  
"What brings you here?" David finally asked.  
Anna put her fork down, tapping the china plate and making it ring. Her mouth opened and closed, making no sound.  
  
"She got another letter from Johnny, Dad," Liz answered for her. Anna had talked with them after the first letter came, talked about what John wrote, not what she read into it.  
  
"What did he say?" Carol wanted to know.  
  
Anna blushed.  
  
"A bit spicy?" David laughed.  
  
"Not quite," Liz whispered under her breath.  
  
-*-  
  
  
As the meal progressed they talked in generalities. John seemed to be doing all right, though he couldn't say anything real.  
  
Then there was another awkward silence. "Well, I asked my sister yesteraday -- "  
  
Liz waved her mother to silence as she stared at Anna, then looked down.  
  
Anna had her lower lip caught in her teeth. Though she was looking at her left hand -- it was clenched -- she knew the others were watching her. Then they leaned back, quietly letting her find the nerve she needing to speak. "When I got John's first letter," she began, "I had to wonder why he wrote." Her voice was quiet. "It wasn't a habit. Half the time he'd forget Christmas and the only time he sent me a birthday message was when Lizzy made him. So I thought, he wants -- "  
  
She stopped. She glanced up shyly at David and Carol, feeling teenaged again. "Er, you know we've … been seeing each other. When we're in the same place."  
  
David nodded, hiding his smile behind one hand, knowing John's hopes. _I want to marry her,_ he had written, straight to the point, as usual. Finally John was thinking sensible about commitment and settling down, and maybe Anna as well. He knew several of John's "dates" and there were probably more. He could also say the same thing about Anna and she knew it. One thing he hadn't liked about the military was how it magnified teenage egotism with little encouragement to change.  
  
Anna was still staring at her plate. "So I wondered why he wrote. I wanted to say, 'be careful' -- " her breath caught. "I couldn't say ... "  
  
"Hush, child. We know," Carol said. They didn't want to hear the words any more than Anna wanted to say them. What ISN said, what it didn't say, was a constant worry. Anna was worried John might not come home.  
  
Anna pushed over the lump. "I thought, I think he wanted to ask me. But he didn't want -- if he didn't -- He wanted to ask _me_. Not in a letter."  
  
"He didn't ask," David said.  
  
"But I answered," Anna replied.  
  
"It's OK," Liz prompted. "Tell them."  
  
Anna took a deep breath. "I p-picked a night," she stuttered, "ch...changed the date." She breathed in and closed her eyes tightly. "I was afraid John would think it was a bad joke, but he wrote back the sweetest letter -- " She had to stop for a time to gain control over her tears, remembering.  
  
  
-***-  
  
  
She had returned to her apartment after a long stint at the lab yesterday, and the rooms had seemed just as sterile as the specimens she was dating, Uruk and Euphrates notwithstanding. The room was lonely, echoing.  
  
She fed the cats and sat down to open her mail. There was a letter from John listed, amid other correspondence from a half dozen friends. Nervously, she had saved his letter for last, skimming the others first. _Would he think it was a bad joke? Would he _wish_ it was a bad joke?_ She needn't have worried.  
  
_You are my dear friend. I know you know there is nothing you could ever do that would do that could change that._  
  
He was writing elliptically again. He phrased the subtext with care, hoping she wasn't having second thoughts. She fretted over the first few paragraphs, until she that his hesitancy was about her emotions, not his own. She could almost hear his voice say it, halfway through the letter. _I love you,_ his words said. In her mind she could hear him speaking, as if he were standing next to her, not out in space, lightyears away. _I want you for always._  
  
She took a deep breath. It was all right, then. "I love you, too," she whispered back to the empty room, letting herself believe it was real, not just wishes, believing he would know she had said it. That the barrier was broken.  
  
-***-  
  
  
"He does feel the same way," she continued, "but he needs to be sure. So that's this letter, and I needed Lizzy's help to write it. I have to tell him everything that happened. That means I'm serious." She was flustered, the words were tumbling over each other.  
  
"I don't understand," Carol said finally.  
  
"I called him 'husband'," she explained into the silence. "I told him I missed him and I loved him, and I thanked him for the memories. Memories to give us both strength through the waiting, the fear," her voices sank to a whisper, heavy with unshed tears, "through the regret. I signed it 'Anna Sheridan'."  
  
Instead of asking _Do you want to marry me?,_ instead of writing _I know why you wrote, and yes, I'll marry you,_ she had called herself already his wife, for she knew not if the War would let him return to her.  
  
_I wanted your future to be joined with mine,_ she had written. _Yes, I am a War Bride, and my future has no guarantee. I accept that, for I love you. I am proud to tell the world how I wait in hope, comforted in memory._  
  
The night before he had left for war had been their wedding night, and it had been the night in Denver, though there had been three suns between them, and that and other nights as well. And there had been a courtship, and friends and family had gathered after the wedding to wish them well, and so they would. And all the 'might have been' that the War took from them they would build in memory. For she would not let it be that fate could say that love had been lost before it had been found.  
  
Anna looked down at her empty plate, ashamed. _What right have I to do this, to force myself into his family by decree?_ In the long history of wars there was also a long history of impulsive action, later regretted. Did she have the right to name her situation different, that this was not "impulse" but "sudden recognition"? Her heart was pounding in fear, afraid of rejection.  
  
David reached over the table to take her hand, and she looked up to see Carol was crying, covering her mouth with one hand. David's face was sad, not angry. "That was well done," he said. "My Johnny chose well."  
  
"Thank you," she whispered.  
  
"What have you decided so far?"  
  
-*-  
  
  
With Liz's help, and much stuttering between them, Anna sketched a description of a simple ceremony before a judge, the day before his leave ended. He was wearing his pilot's uniform.  
  
David and Carol listened silently until Anna mentioned the reception had been at _Starlight_, a small restaurant in Burlington that had been a high school favorite.  
  
"No, that won't do," David broke in. "That's where Johnny wanted it, but it was my money and I put my foot down. Everyone wanted to come to the party, and that was out of the way. You got married in Denver, and the reception was at _Thomas', _Grand Lake."  
  
Anna and Liz both blinked. _Thomas'_ was a family favorite -- high class and a beautiful view. It also had a specialty of catering to large gatherings. "Oh, yeah." Liz managed to speak first. "You two sure went round and round about that."  
  
So _Thomas'_ it was. And when Anna and Carol couldn't decide if they had served salmon or steak David wondered "why not both?" and there was no good reason not to. Then the question came up of "what kind of dance music?" and Liz got up to get a notebook to keep track.  
  
Carol called a break to clean dishes.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Afterward they continued in front of the fireplace with Anna's field book.  
  
She had already told John that they had married in a courthouse. The ceremony was John and her in front of the judge, and both sets of parents and Lizzy were there watching. That was normal; that was OK.  
  
The reception was getting out of hand.  
  
Yet any time Anna tried to put the brakes on David would interrupt and pout until she relented. As far as he was concerned, nothing was too outrageous. Anna finally gave in, and joined in the laughter. It felt good to smile, and she could hear John laughing as she keyed the words in. It was going to be a long letter. He would like that.  
  
-*-  
  
  
As the reception plans took shape, David kept his smile on. This was serious business. He could feel the unspoken dread that hung over them: the war. Letters and wartime; it would be a hard journey. There would be so much that couldn't be talked about.  
  
[So let this wedding fiction be insane, he resolved. It was something they could elaborate upon without worry for the censors. It would be a long time of letter-writing, he knew, before John, could come home. If he did come come. David's prayer was continuous: _Almighty God, please bring him home. Bring them all home alive._  
  
The more they could write about the easier it would be to "chin up" and be brave.  
  
-*-  
  
  
It was late before the letter was finally done. In the morning Anna planned to write a private note to send along with the one from the family. David read her thoughts as she looked at the clock. "You can stay here tonight," he said.  
  
He grabbed an extra blanket and showed Anna to "her room", as he called it. It was John's. She halted at the doorway. "D-David -- " she began, after taking the blanket.  
  
"'Dad'," he corrected.  
  
"OK. Dad." The voice was small. "I don't think -- " It was another lump to push over. "I don't want to leave. Can you find me work, for the war effort?" She knew his diplomatic work had been shifting. He was close enough, she hoped, to get news that wasn't overly processed for the media. "I can't concentrate at the lab," she looked down. She didn't like to admit that worry was making her work sloppy. None of it seemed to matter. "I can wrap it up to a stopping point in a few days and take a leave of absence. A lot of people have already left."  
  
He nodded and promised he could find something. She thanked him and then entered to make the bed.  
  
-*-  
  
  
In the wee hours of the morning Anna awoke from a nervous sleep. She left John's room and walked barefoot in the dark to the sun room looking over the back yard. The other houses were dark shapes in the snow, roofs touched by moonrise. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to sleep alone. She looked at the stars that the moonlight and city lights hadn't chased away. _Is there battle going on out there?_ She wondered where John was, and hoped he was still alive.  
  
A short time later David joined her. She felt guilty and didn't know what to say. She felt bad for asking, could she move in? She tried to withdraw her request, As he had with the party arrangements, he waved aside her objections.  
  
"You call me 'Dad', I'll call you 'Daughter'," he said, and his smile was as winning as John's ever was. "Don't feel bad. You didn't surprise me last night, but you were too scared to notice, I think." He looked at her intently, and she could see the certainty in his eyes that he wanted her to feel as well. "You didn't push Johnny into anything he didn't want to give. He asked us to look after you. You read him right." He spoke carefully to keep within in the hopeful fantasy Anna had begun. "John wrote me the same time he wrote you. He told me what he longed for, to come home again to you."  
  
Anna started to cry. She tried to turn away to hide her tears, but David took her arms and then pulled her into a tight embrace.  
  
"Dry your tears," he whispered in her ear. "Go back to your bed and get some rest. We'll see to your things tomorrow. Big old house, we've got plenty of room."  
  
  
**=== end chapter three ===**


	4. Early Spring 2246 On the Home Front

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 4. Date: Early Spring 2246 (first year of the Earth-Minbari War) **  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"I'll talk to you when I talk to you."_

David Sheridan, _Severed Dreams_

  
-*-  
  
  
"You just want the two?" David asked as the clerk left to get a box.  
  
"Dad. John got me a perfectly good diamond -- " even if it was nothing more than transmitted binary code retranslated into a picture on her computer screen; the letter had arrived last night and had prompted this expedition " -- it's just not something I can wear every day. Now we were in such a rush that we didn't get rings. But the judge frowned at us and I promised -- "  
  
The clerk came back and she handed him her credit chit. "Mathieson", it said on the screen.  
  
"You should let me pay for this."  
  
"He's my husband. It has to be my gift to him."  
  
-*-  
  
  
They weren't five steps outside the store entrance toward the mall parking lot when Anna sat heavily on the first available bench. She pulled the velvet box out of the bag and unceremoniously (though holding her breath) removed the smaller of the two rings and slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand. Then she snapped the box shut and put it in the breast pocket of John's Earth Force Academy jacket, which she had been using as her winter coat.  
  
David just stared. She met his look, hands crossed on her lap, left hand above, the wedding ring reflecting the overhead lights like stars. John's coat was four sizes too large for her, making her small form smaller still ... a vulnerable child. She was twenty-five years old. The ring surrounded her finger as if had been there these last two (no, six) months. _I suppose the judge didn't frowned on them -- the story is getting revised again -- and they had the rings all along._ His eyes closed for a moment. If she could stay in the fiction, then he would also, but it was painfully hard.  
  
"It's a beautiful ring," he said. Simple, bold.  
  
"It's what John wanted. He asked me to keep his safe with me. Pilots and mechanics aren't allowed jewelry on the hands, it's a safety hazard. He didn't want to risk it getting lost -- "  
  
"I know." The day she had finished moving into the house Liz had asked her, "Are you going to change your name?" Anna had said "No." She hadn't wanted to fight and have to defend herself against bureaucrats who would ask her "why?" But the wedding ring, it seemed, was an achievable defiance. "Lunch?" he asked.  
  
She shook her head. "Can we go home, Dad? I'm not feeling well."  
  
_Time for a good cry,_ he concluded, feeling the same way. He helped her to stand and kept one arm around her back as they walked. Someone had a radio on in a kiosk selling souvenir mugs and baseball caps. Election year prattle. No one wanted to talk about the war.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Eighty miles to the North and West, Paul Elytis walked confidently through the broad rooms of his domain. His step wasn't as lively as it once was and his black hair was beginning to gray above his ears, but _Thomas'_ was ever the same -- good food, good dark wood, tall windows to let in the view of the mountains surrounding Grand Lake. He was happy to make people happy, and enjoyed talking to his customers to show his appreciation.  
  
So it wasn't surprising that when Liz came to take notes and a few photographs that Elytis would stop by her table as she was finishing dessert and trying to decide which digital photo she should send with her next letter to John.  
  
"Little Lizzy. How you've grown." He always said that. "Are you alone?" Elytis had several ongoing conversations in the works with David and Carol, none of which involved politics.  
  
"No, just me."  
  
"What brings you here?"  
  
"Your cucumber salad, of course. ... And some research," she added when he looked at the notes and camera.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Liz breathed deep, and dove in. "Was the banquet room empty any night during June 10th through July 1st last year?"  
  
Elytis paused at the odd question. "Perhaps. Why?"  
  
"I need to pick one of those nights, because that's when John and Anna got married."  
  
"John?" he smiled foolishly. "Married?" He missed the name of the girl, and reviewed in his head John's past visits and dates. "Excuse me, who?"  
  
"Anna!" Liz laughed. "You know -- _Anna._" Anna had been here many times, but mostly with Liz.  
  
"Oh, yes. Of course," he said hastily. Last spring Carol had mentioned again to him her hopes for John and Anna. Then his face got puzzled. "Excuse me, you said last year?"  
  
"June 10th, about. That's when they got married."  
  
This was a strange matter. "Here?" he managed.  
  
"No, this is where they had their reception."  
  
"Oooohhhh." He rocked back on his heels as the light dawned. The young ones have had an elopement, and the parents are embarrassed. So we will plan also the anniversary party! "Let me get the book," he told Liz, and hustled away to his office.  
  
-*-  
  
"And Tad Henne -- " Anna tried hard to the nervousness in her laugh. "Does this sound like something Henne would do?"  
  
"Don't ask me," Liz said blandly. "I've read the same letters you have. What do you think?"  
  
Anna looked down at the small copy of the banquet room floor plan that Liz had gotten from Elytis during her first expedition two months before. "The head table is here," she pointed, "and Henne and Sally Pines ... and two other people I still have to pick stood by the window -- "  
  
Anna was speaking notes into her pocket recorder as different reception "memories" occurred to her or Liz. She was writing another letter and _Thomas'_ seemed the best place for an early Sunday dinner. Anna was in a worried mood. She had gotten word from her parents that they had declined David's invitation to come back to Earth from the Orion Colony to join the household. She didn't like to think about the reason why David had made the offer, or why they had refused. Earth Dome had been quietly encouraging civilians in the colonies to return to Earth if they weren't part of self-sufficient farm communities. It would be less population that needed to be evacuated if the front got too close. Housing wasn't tight yet, but it would be. David could provide for her parents, but not for the dozens of people that worked for Graytech Engineering, most of them recent emigrants.  
  
Robert Gray and Edith Mathieson, world builders, were too tightly bound to their new home. They couldn't just stop, they couldn't abandon their workers. Anna had told them why she had moved into the Sheridan house, and Edith answered her bluntly, _I hope he survives._ John had also written them, asking their blessing.  
  
To Anna's parents, John was an overly earnest high school student. He had been fifteen the last time they spoke in person, already determined to join Earth Force, having devoured all the vids and text he could find about the Dilgar Wars. He was going for the glory, he was going to be a pilot. Robert and Edith, trying to hold their new world together, found war in no way glorious. The letters that John now wrote to spoke of concern and determination to keep all EA safe. Yet, it had been the ambitious pilot that had caught their daughter's eye, and they feared for their daughter that she had bound herself to the military life. Their letters were short. They didn't joint into the reception planning.  
  
For the people playing the game, it seemed to be a good distraction. Liz had sent John a copy of the seating diagram it came back with many additional names. It looked like every man and woman on his ship wanted to have attended, or he wanted to invite everyone from his class in the Academy, or friends wanted to invite other friends who would like a good party. Liz was glad the censors let the diagram through. Carol had been flatly amazed they hadn't returned it as unsendable, but it was too convoluted for any spy to try to deduce numbers strength. John and his friends seemed to be spending much time in discussion and every letter ended with seating changes. They had also begun to accumulate "special orders" for the kitchen ... and the wine cellar.  
  
And during the reception, of course, the hall often rang with the sound of forks tapping on the glass wine goblets -- a signal for John and Anna to kiss. That's where Henne came in. John had mentioned that Henne had done something to attract attention, but hadn't told specifics. Anna figured he was either painfully shy or John was making some kind of repayment. So she picked something silly. Henne had organized a panel of judges to rate the kisses -- using something outrageous for score cards -- and Pines (John had mentioned she liked being contrary) kept giving them low marks.  
  
Anna was then trying to figure some similar incidents for family members when Elytis appeared and patted her wedding ring. "So how is married life treating you?"  
  
"Just fine, Mr. Elytis."  
  
"Good, good." He then shook his head at her. "Such naughty children. Parties are important, you know. Ceremonies are not just for the couple."  
  
Anna blinked, and struggled to keep within some part to the fiction. "John got called out sudden. We didn't really have much time."  
  
"Then you should have decided sooner!" Elytis said sternly, then smiled. "But -- well, we will make it right. Congratulations! You say that to your John."  
  
"I will," she promised, and managed to keep from giggling until he was out of earshot, unable to think of anything safe to say.  
  
Stifling her own laughter, Liz at last pronounced," I think Mr. Elytis could easily take two from four and have five left over."  
  
Anna could only agree.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Having been reminded of the wedding Elytis called up the public records again on his office terminal. "Why can't I find it?" he asked to the room, and heard the cook laughing through open door to the kitchen. "A wedding should be no secret," he called back. "It should be here."  
  
Then he turned around to see Nora Rainer, one of his waitresses, looking at him seriously. "Sheridans?" she asked. Elytis' intermittent search for the official record had become common knowledge with the staff. "They aren't married."  
  
Elytis stared back at her, face growing angry.  
  
"It's a fiction," she explained. She walked into the office but stared at the wall. "I saw Ed Butler -- he's married to Mrs. Sheridan's sister -- at the post office and got the story. There was no wedding."  
  
"But why -- "  
  
"You don't have family in the military, do you?" she asked softly.  
  
"You do," Elytis answered.  
  
She nodded, looking back at him. "Two uncles, and all three of my neighbor's kids."  
  
He took a long time thinking. He didn't much think of the war, any more than he did when the Dilgar matter was happening. That had turned out fine -- more than fine. He had a business to run.  
  
He stared at Rainer, trying to puzzle why David's family or little Anna would say such lies. "She's afraid -- "  
  
"Yes. Don't say -- "  
" -- he's going to die." He couldn't stop the sentence already started. "She doesn't -- "  
  
" -- No, damn it! Stop!" Rainer tried to cover his mouth with her hand.  
  
" -- want ... " his voice sputtered out. "Sorry."  
  
"Sorry," she apologized, backing away. Not the way to treat a boss, even if she'd been working there seven years. "Sorry. You're part of the secret now, and there's rules." She continued after his nod, "Rule one is you can't say why. No one can ever say why. It's bad luck."  
  
_Anna's afraid there will be no real wedding,_ Elytis said to himself, and a shiver ran through him. Fear. He knew nightmares would come after, more than he'd ever felt before. Like ISN, he had been ignoring what was happening on the borders. It couldn't be serious. Earth Dome regular reports never said much; they always ended with a reassurance that there was nothing to fear. But Sheridan had connections. If he and his family were worried, there was reason.  
  
Elytis walked to his window, put his hands on either side and stared across the lake at dark mountains against a twilight sky. Rainer exited silently, leaving him to his frightened thoughts.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Anna entered the house ran up to check for mail as Liz went to talk to Carol. "Hey, Liz!" she heard Anna's voice after less than a minute. Well, it couldn't be another letter from John. Those were always long and she always read them first alone, separating "family" from "private." And she only called for her, not her and Mom. Still, it sounded like good news. Liz came up as fast as she could.  
  
Anna was smiling broadly, her eyes slightly bright. "Mr. 'Jones' finally got the mail system fixed," she reported.  
  
"Jones?" Liz wondered, then remembered. She grinned widely. "Johnny will like that," she answered. "Bet it was annoying -- " _no it wasn't_ " -- to keep getting [Mathieson] on his mail list." She used her hands to indicate the brackets.  
  
"It's a tough bug, he said," Anna continued her report, "and he's still working on it. Right now I can only send mail from this terminal if I want to list as 'from Anna Sheridan' like I should."  
  
Liz grinned. She would love to see the look on her brother's face the first time that happened. It might have been easier to fix if Anna had officially changed her name but it would have broken the rules to tell the government clerks "why." "That was nice of him to take the time."  
  
"He's not done yet," Anna grinned. "He's working on a program that will link to John's serial number so it won't matter where I send mail from."  
  
Liz chuckled. They even had the censors playing the fiction now. Last week Anna had received mail from "System Administrator," with no return address. The note was signed "Mr. Jones" and stated that he had noticed an error in the system and would she like him to correct the mail sent to her husband, so her "from" name would match her signature. The War and necessity was so much in her mind that she didn't feel the breach of privacy. Anna had replied saying "yes" and "thank you". Liz wondered if Jones -- this "Jones" -- was the censor who OK'd sending the seating diagram.  
  
  
**=== end chapter four ===**


	5. May 2247 Speaking the Truth

**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 5 Date: May 2247 (end of the second year of the Earth-Minbari War) **  
  
-*-  
  
  


_"Everything's gone to hell, John. God help us all. You're on your own."_

attributed to William Hague, _Point of No Return_

  
-*-  
  
  
John, broad smile, was making one more attempt. "Are you sure you didn't want to come?" He was on the _Valiant_ now, and this was the first invitation to be refused.  
  
"I didn't know you yet." Colonel Hague's voice carried a touch of amusement at the Navy boy's persistence. War's necessities had found a wing of Navy starfuries assigned to his Army ship. Along with the extra firepower had came unforseen oddities. Hague had anticipated that cheerful inter-service 'rivalry' would be a good source of distraction in the tense waiting times. He had not expected a wing commander who was and wasn't married, nor had he expected one of the walls of the mess to be appropriated to display a seating chart that looked like nothing so much as a battle plan. Certainly, the diagram elicited enough serious debate to be mistaken for the latter. The weekly mail dump must have brought another letter, and John, as usual, was almost unbearably cheerful.  
  
"Oh, where does logic have to fit in this?" Bold with good news, he didn't want to accept Hague's refusal. Scuttlebutt had apparently traveled and Captain Maynard -- _alive! -- it was so hard too keep track of people these days_ -- had sent a congratulations letter to Anna, inviting himself into the party. That meant every other CO he'd served under (except Arko) had been there. Over the last year the fiction had acquired a life of its own. Putting up the seating chart here had been a risk. _Valiant_ was a heavy cruiser, twice the size of the destroyers John had served on previously. It was a large number of people to invite into his game, but exclusion would have been worse. As usual, those who accepted the invitation were mostly fellow pilots. He made room, crowding the tables and taking over more and more of the dance floor. "Uncle Fred has decided he gave us a piano."  
  
"I'm sure that will be a charming addition to your bungalow. Are you expecting me to contribute an equal amount of credits to this con game?"  
  
"Sir!" he replied in mock indignation.  
  
"I didn't know you," Hague repeated emphatically. "My response then would have been what it would be now to thinly veiled beggary from strangers. I assure you that if you do open your hyperspace window to the past to add my name to your guest list I would have sent your unsolicited mail to the circular file with the rest of the spam. It would be to my detriment if I have forgotten your name for you would deserve a lecture, not promotion."  
  
_Promotion._ John lost his joking smile, belatedly recognizing Hague's 'I have news' look. "Sir?"  
  
"I've got your marching orders, Mr. Jar-Head." Hague handed him the flimsy. "Lt. Cmdr. Jar-Head," he corrected when John didn't look down. "You're going back to Io. There will be a ship there waiting."  
  
John finally looked at his orders. There were several old destroyers that were changing hands in the home defense. Final assignment would occur once he reached Sol system. Even considering the times, it seemed too large a jump. "Why me?"  
  
"They asked for Oriold; I told them you'd do fine."  
  
"You don't want to give her up?" Denise Oriold was his XO.  
  
"Not to Sol system. That's where your family is. Hers is out here and next in line for attack. So I keep her ... unless orders are for a ship out here. For as long as I can. It's got nothing to do with what's the most important job. God help us if the front gets that close to Earth. What EarthForce Defense is doing," Hague pointed to the flimsy, "is taking anyone with combat command experience out of home system to fight out on the front, as well as finding good execs to move up."  
  
"So I'll be working with Old Man Rund?"  
  
"No. He's moving out."  
  
"What?" A sudden chill went through him. "They can't. He's half blind."  
  
"Rund volunteered to take charge of the evacuation of New Sydney," he explained. It was a city of 900,000 on Proxima III -- the largest out-system metropolis. "Projections are we can save 30% of the population -- that's 80% of urban -- if we start now, and prevent panic." John's mouth opened then shut again as he turned away. "Don't repeat that," Hague said, watching his reactions closely.  
  
"I won't." John could feel himself being watched. Soon he would be sitting in the lonely seat. "Sir -- " he began. He kept his eyes on the wall. There were framed pictures there: trees, water, a family portrait. "It's not going well, is it?" he managed, keeping his voice steady.  
  
"No," Hague answered. He kept his eyes on the younger man as he turned around. He nodded once in satisfaction. His instincts had been correct, he wasn't just being selfish about Oriold. "You're not surprised."  
  
"No," John answered, struggling to keep his hands still. "Sir, I've never stopped being scared. From the first reports ... I knew it could get nothing but ugly." Swallowed, voice reduced to a whisper "... and 'ugly' keeps getting worse." He shook his head. "Sorry. I shouldn't admit to that, should I?"  
  
Hague's face warmed slightly. "You can say that to me, get it out of your system. Back on the home front, you'll have to keep it to yourself."  
  
_For the sake of my crew,_ John told himself, and it was an odd and frightening shift of thinking. It wasn't the same as being squad or wing commander. He wasn't sure he was ready for the responsibility, but the War wasn't giving him a choice in the matter. Bravery wasn't what he was feeling, but he would need his crew to be brave, and that meant he would have to wear the face of confidence, even when he knew otherwise. "Why?" he asked in frustration. It was the guilty question only to be asked or heard in the anonymity of darkness. The questions they would whisper at every death, at every report of death. Misery loves company; it was a luxury that would soon be closed to him. "Why? What do they want from us? Why did this start?"  
  
Hague locked eyes with him. "You want to know?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Hague shifted his attention to his terminal. "You're not the only one." His hands moved quickly, pulling up a file. John stepped closer, and he stood and gestured him to sit.  
  
He did so, keeping his eyes on his CO. This seemed odd.  
"No, you're not supposed to be seeing this," Hague answered his look, "so I don't want you to try to memorize any of these numbers. Look at the over-all. I'm hoping we just can't see the forest for the trees."  
  
John's hands were set loose on either side of the keyboard. Hague reached over his right arm to key the advance in a relentless, familiar rhythm. There had been many times he had done this, alone, driven by the same question John had asked: _why?_  
  
The reports were in a standard format, sorted in chronological order. The form was primarily a data grid with space for commentary at the bottom: date of the incident; vital statistics on the target (population breakdown, resources, strategic and cultural importance), damage and death toll, rescue statistics (if any). In many of the reports one or several of the boxes were blank.  
  
John's first reaction was anger, but it soon dissipated into fear as he saw that what he first thought was Minbari cruelty was, in fact, efficiency. _Can you hate an earthquake, a flood? To what purpose when you need every scrap of energy to battle the raging waters just to stay alive? Survival, that's all that matters._ The Minbari strikes were methodical, precise. The minimum expenditure to get the job done.  
  
They would deliver direct death if necessary, but would also inflict a fatal wound and leave-to-die if that was less expensive. Minbari resources were conserved whenever possible, and planetary resources were likewise conserved, if those assets could be blocked from human use. There was no sign that the Minbari were taking anything for themselves.  
  
John kept his eyes on the screen, mouth was open and breathing in gulps. His eyes blinked, and Hague could see slow tears forming. He envied John's youth, that there was still emotion enough there to feel regret for what was lost, for what was going to be lost, where for him there was nothing left in his dead soul but the determination to go on, never mind the small voice that said 'hopeless, hopeless'.  
  
"Extermination?" John asked, incredulous, once Hague had reached the end of the file. "There's nothing we have they want. They just want us dead?"  
  
Hague's face fell one tiny step. One more impossible hope shattered against the cold, hard stone of reality. He had been grasping at straws, he was. _It was not a kindness to expect rescue from the kid._ "That's the only conclusion Command can come up with."  
  
"But what have we done?" John complained to the universe. _Gone._ He shuddered to think that. Geneva, _Denver, all the temples of Lhasa and the palace of the Dalai Lama. The Golden Gate. When the Minbari destroyed the cities of California would they let the redwoods survive? Mom, Dad, Lizzy_ ... his head spun. _Anna, his wife. (By any measure that mattered, she already was his wife.)_ He had a vision of the empty homestead, a burning shell surrounded by blackened cornfields. "What have we done that God would say 'erase it all'?" _It can't,_ he pleaded. _It can't happen. Please, dear God in heaven -- _  
  
"I don't know," Hague answered, bone weary. "Maybe we'll never know." He reached over John's shoulder to close the file, then pulled him into a stand, away from the computer screen. The viewing had taken equal toll on Hague and he sank heavily into his reclaimed seat. The room fell back into its smothering silence.  
  
  
  
-*-  
  
Finally, Hague spoke, telling the brutal reality. "We don't know how to plan a defense. There's very little strategy to counter what's happening. Sorry. Not much of a present, is it?"  
  
John swallowed. "I'd rather know than be ignorant." He tried to smile bravely. "I've never had illusions."  
  
Hague chuckled dryly, and then his face broke into a rare grin. "I'm truly sorry I missed your wedding, John," he said. He could stay in the shadows of fear only so long before human nature objected. John lost the battle with his hands. They clasped the back of his neck as he turned away. "It sure sounds like it was one hell of a party," Hague continued.  
  
"That it was, sir." John grinned back at him. He managed to get one hand down and relaxed.  
  
"When you write you wife your next letter, be sure to mention I said that -- "  
  
"I will, sir."  
  
Hague then said in a voice of iron, "And you write your answer the way you were writing it as you came in to see me, and don't make any hints about what I said or where you're going."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
  
  
-*-  
  
The orders said he would leave the next morning, so the rest of the day was a hurry of finishing up business, mostly "good-byes." Hadley, Alpha Squad Leader, was ready to move up to Wing Leader and could choose his own replacement. There wasn't much for John to pack into his kit; the largest piece was the seating chart and that came down during the farewell party, to much sad comment.  
  
This time it was Oriold trying to get Hague to pick a seat (next to hers) but he continued to refuse. In the early morning the party ended when Hague made the final toast, and everyone downed their glass. A few hours later John was on a transport back to the transfer station. Only a few people were there to see him off, crowds being bad luck.  
  
  
**=== end chapter five ===**


	6. Late Fall 2247 Final Briefing

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 6 Date: Late Fall 2247 (near the end of the Earth-Minbari War) **  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"After three years, the holy war that began when our leader was killed by an Earth explorer division was almost over. To avenge Dukhat's death we had pursued your forces all the way back to your home world. The few surviving Earth ships that were ordered to defend your world at any cost were not an obstacle." _

Lennier, _Points of Departure_

  
  
-*-  
  
  
"We must be prepared for the inevitable."  
  
Earth Alliance President Patrick Auden had addressed the Senate yesterday afternoon. CDN was replaying the speech at four hour intervals. Between the repeats the standard civil defense instruction cycle was being slowly replaced by more specific suggestions and directives. "What you can do to defend yourself against invasion." "Decentralization of government as a part of regional self-sufficiency." There were relocation orders: most urban areas didn't have sufficient local food resources, and many rural areas didn't have population enough for the harvest, if it had to be done by hand. Her whole world, her whole life was falling apart.  
  
It was the second month of martial law. The Senate had passed legislation postponing the next elections until no longer than one year after the end of the War. That action had raised less protest than the institution of the planetary draft last year.  
  
The day after the election was postponed ninety-five percent of the Senate and its staff put half their salary or more toward buying savings bonds for the war effort, and that included one hundred percent of the War Subcommittee. Two days after that there began a series of small (but loud) protests against the election cancellation that grew increasingly violent. Martial law had been declared and the media (with government help, no doubt) exposed a half dozen clueless candidates who were counting on exploiting the War to their own ends.  
  
On the one hand it was hard not to be cynical about the timing of the exposes. On the other -- She had remembered butting heads with followers of one of the accused before the War started and the media description seemed only mildly exaggerated.  
  
It was a relief to be spared all the political mud-slinging. Auden had more important duties than campaigning. He had taken on the worry of the whole Alliance on his shoulders, it seemed. "We have been given a task that may be beyond our ability," he said, apologizing. His quiet voice, for all the words of despair, never lost its dignity. "My fault," he seemed to say, ... though it was the Minbari. "An old race," their allies from the Dilgar War whispered as they slipped away, afraid to be drawn into the conflict. Too powerful. Thousands of years ahead of Earth technology, people said. Hopeless. There was nothing left but the waiting.  
  
Her mother and father were dead. She should be grieving, but all she could feel was numbness. Nothingness. All the worry and fear. The hours she'd spent with Liz trying to find the right words for the letters she'd sent, trying not to beg. (Her parents never tolerated whining.) _Come to earth,_ she had wanted to tell them. _I need you. When I was a child, you were gone. Be with me._ All feeling had been bled from her.  
  
She had no family now, except that the Sheridans had let her into theirs. The Orion colony had fallen. Only one of two refugee ships had managed to escape, a tiny fraction of the population. Henry Deasey was on that ship. He was market researcher and general programmer for Greytech Engineering, the family business, now destroyed. He and his husband, Eric, were camped out in the living room. Henry had arrived with a letter of introduction and whispered news. Last he knew, her parents had been planetside in a targeted area. The attack had been fierce.  
  
They were dead. Somehow she knew that. Wherever they were, she knew they were together. Anna had been calling David and Carol "Dad" and "Mom" ever since she became best friends with Lizzy. Now they and Liz were all she had left. _John is next in line to die._  
  
Letting the images from the vid wash over her, she had lost track of how long she had been waiting.  
  
She was standing in the front waiting room of David's office. He had asked her to meet him there. She stood entranced by the vidscreen because passive attention was easier than thought. There were others also waiting -- work assignments, probably. Or housing. No one spoke.  
  
David was late or she was early; it didn't really matter. Dully she tried to focus, willing herself to believe the reports, the hopes, were real. There were billions of humans on Earth; millions in the colonies. Somehow, somewhere, pockets would survive. She had to believe that.  
  
-*-  
  
  
"Anna," someone said. It was David. "How's my girl?"  
  
She smiled wanly. "Fine, I guess."  
  
He pulled her away from the screen, toward the front door. "I got you an assignment."  
  
There was a tremble in his voice she wasn't used to hearing. "Dad? Are you all right?" She thought back to his words. "What assignment?"  
  
"Courier," he explained. "To Io. That's where _Sam Adams_ is posted." Properly, it was the _Samuel Adams_: John's ship.  
  
At the thought of John, Anna's heart began to race, but she pushed the emotion down. "Courier?" _That makes no sense. There is military traffic enough, there's no need to send a civilian._ She fisted her hands and turned away. "There's no reason for this. You pulled strings!" It was an accusation.  
  
"Now listen here, girl -- "  
  
She spun to face him. "No!" Her whole body shook. "Dad, no, don't do this to me."  
  
David could only stare, uncomprehending.  
  
"I know your reason," she said, struggling to control her tears. "But I can't, can't you see? Was Mom going to send a license with me?" The wedding ring had never left her finger, but she was too far fallen into despair to guard the marriage fiction.  
  
David had called in every favor he had left to get Anna and John together ... one last time. It would be now or never, he knew. As much as it had hurt to admit that possibility, her refusal hurt more.  
  
She held his left hand in her two hands, holding it outwards that they both could look on the ring he wore for Carol. "We can't act as if we're all going to die, even if we will," she whispered.  
  
He pulled his hand away, unwilling to give up this small comfort he had made for himself and the rest.  
  
Anna could only think on the price that comfort would demand. "What will that do to him, if he and I -- " _John. My John._ Visions of passion overtook her: she could not bear to speak the words. The final goodbye: it would be the end of hope. "What would I do to him to say: 'You will die?' What would it do to him if he accepts his death, and ours?"  
  
"I know." David hadn't expected this reaction. He should have. Once again his heart ached in pride for both of them. "I just -- I saw a chance. I just wanted -- "  
  
"Give the gift to someone else, Dad. A mechanic, a medtech. Someone who's allowed to be scared. I have memories, Dad." She closed her eyes, clutching her ring. "You know I have memories. I want it. I dare not. I can't do that to him. Not him, not his crew."  
  
He nodded, pulling himself together. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."  
  
"You didn't hurt me. The damn Minbari did that. Now go." She turned him around and pushed him back the way he came. "Go undo that order. I'll wait here."  
  
He did as he was told. Anna, for the moment blind, fumbled her way out the front door, gulping for clean air.  
  
-*-  
  
  
John stood in a dim hallway talking quietly with a new friend as they waited for the signal to enter the briefing room. Art Chalkey was the new CO of the _Jean-Paul Marat_. Chalkey got his ship in the same wave of assignments that had given John the _Sam Adams_. He and John and the rest of the CO's of the larger ships in the area had been summoned to the transfer station at Io for a planning session. Every indication was that this was it, the end was coming.  
  
"It's the same hellish nightmare every time," Chalkey whispered conspiratorially. "They're there -- boom! -- I can't move, I can't give the order. Then my ship's dead and I've done nothing."  
  
"It won't happen like that," John answered, voice earnest. The other officers in the hall were all clumped in similar isolated groups. Chalkey had been the first of the two to voice his doubt. John was glad to hear he wasn't alone in his fears. "Dreams, there's no time sense. Out here, you'll see it. You'll do what you have to do."  
  
"'Do,' yes. Will I chose the right order? I won't have a second chance. Maybe I'll do the wrong thing. How many battles did we tear apart in class? How many times has the wrong decision made things worse?"  
  
"How many times as the desperate act carried the day?"  
  
There was a sudden, spreading hush. Rosca Deciani, Bekthe's aide, had made the signal to enter.  
  
As John filed into the room behind Chalkey, he traded a _still alive?_ glance with Denny Ireland, the first _Eagle_ survivor he'd seen in over a year. That would be something to do before they left the station back to their ships. John doubted there would be time to find a bar, but they could trade stories.  
  
-*-  
  
  
_Retribution,_ Bethke sighed. _A holy war._  
  
It was hopeless.  
  
General Ivans Bethke was the Military Governor of Io, and the burden on his shoulders was the equivalent to Auden's, too great for either to bear. Io was his home, as well as his post. His family -- career military, mostly -- had immigrated here when the transfer point was built. Most of the Bethkes stayed with the family tradition, they had just shifted where they called "home," where the dependants stayed. They and their neighbors worked on the hydroponics farms and in the mines. He knew the domes on Io as well as he knew the corridors of the military station. His roots were here, and here they all would die.  
  
_Retribution._ The report lay on the conference table in front of him, relentless burning through the last of his impossible hopes, leaving him powerless. EarthForce Defense had finally -- as the end drew near -- answered the question of "motive": that first attack, the _Prometheus_, had killed the Minbari leader, who was both their political and spiritual head. How long Defense had known this, he didn't know. Of course -- at the beginning -- there had been rumors, but no one would think that could be the only, the over-riding reason.  
  
Defense sent the report out now as an admission of just how dark the future had become, to prevent any false hope, to prevent anyone from thinking there might be a deal to be worked out. _All we can do is stand and die._  
  
The information was still classified. Command staff -- anyone with independent control of a ship or forces -- was to be told so that they could better interpret the standing orders during the chaos of combat, but the soldiers were not to know. Better the uncertain rumors than the bitter truth.  
  
Io was strategic. Io was the gateway to Earth. It was manned, heavily manned. Too far away from Sol to get light enough, the environment was fully artificial. The pre-war goal of self-sufficiency had not yet been achieved when war's necessities had tripled the population.  
  
The civilians were supposed to have been evacuated, but the front had begun to collapse sooner than had been expected, and they were now all trapped, waiting to die. The reserves of air, food and fuel were too small. Even if they could somehow avoid attack, there were too many people for the fragile resources. Mars might have a chance, but not Io. The best estimates -- no damage -- the colony would be dead in a year.  
  
Bethke stared at the report, stared at the men and women he had called here to be briefed on its contents. He still breathed: muscle still moved at his nerve's commands. His soul had died.  
  
In this way he had come his last duty. Defeat and invasion certain, still he must look and judge the options, few though they were. Bethke had the impossible task of pretending a defense could be planned against the invincible, cobbled from old ships and new commanders.  
  
Crowded around the table were the CO's of the ships stationed at Io. There were four cruisers represented: Colonel Gunsalus, of the _Geneva_, newest of the lot. Three old navy ships of ironic name that had begun service during the last war: Captain Clarke, the _Formidable_, Captain Rashid, the _Repulse_ and Captain Mowrey, the _Victory_. The twelve old destroyers, a mix of Army and Navy, were represented by their CO's, all new. There were also nearly sixty frigates stationed at Io, including _Keren_, captained by his daughter Gerda. They would be briefed later.  
  
Three liaisons were at the meeting: Colonel Randall Chee, the _Boyington_, from Mars; Captain Allan Young, the _Conqueror_, from Luna; and Colonel Hua-Ching Wang, the _Wasp_, from Earth. They would courier back to their ships when this session was done. Bethke's XO, Colonel Kung, was similarly attending the meeting at Luna.  
  
What they had to look at wasn't pretty. The last reports from the front made it clear the Minbari would arrive at Sol system within a matter of days, a week at the most. Defense seemed problematical. These sessions hadn't been called to unveil some Grand Plan, poised to save them all. At the most it was damage control: put the truth on the table as a defense against panic and frantic rumor.  
  
Bethke read to the end of the report, before his aide sent copies down both sides of table. He watched silently as they were passed down. "A reminder," his dead voice repeated, "these flimsies don't leave this room. Shove them down the slot when you're done reading."  
  
Half the people studied the words, the rest only made motions, or stared at the strategic map on the wall.  
  
Bethke gave the room another minute before he leaned forward with a sigh. "That's that," he said, as eyes turned back to him. "We've got a bad situation coming, people." _Understatement._ "Don't expect the diplomats to make any last moment breakthroughs. It's going to come down to who can fight hardest."  
  
"It can't be genocide," Major Sharon Doheny of the _Celebes_ said, still thinking in terms of territory and invasion. "The other races -- "  
  
"If they haven't helped yet, they won't now," Colonel Chee reminded. "Who but the Narns can we look to?" There were nods around the table. "Yet, their help has always been cautious and paid for. What do we have left?" The Narn had also been the first and most consistent of help, but their technology was nearly as 'primitive' as Earth's when compared against the Minbari.  
  
"What the Minbari do is for vengeance, not gain," Bethke repeated. "What they do to us they could do to any other race that would challenge their sentence. No other government will risk that. Individuals, perhaps, might feel guilt enough that they must make some gesture. But it will be too little, too late." A few families here and there, taken to other worlds as refugees to find what livelihood they could. Eventually -- with a cautious look toward Minbari anger -- other governments or cabals might build anew on the ruins of the murdered human colonies, making them alien territory. "We cannot look toward others for help. We are alone."  
  
"There has to be something," Captain Wang said.  
  
That plea was over-spoken by Lt. Cmdr. John Sheridan, one of the new COs, claiming the room's attention. "We're all going to die."  
  
A room of angry eyes turned on him, but he met them with a stare of cold fire. His was not the face of despair. "We're going to 'lose'," he continued. "You've all seen the reports. Is there any doubt? We can't stand against them."  
  
Bethke gazed at the young navy officer, mentally reviewing what he remembered of his record. Lt. Cmdr. Sheridan had followed the same basic route that all the Destroyer captains had taken to their new commands: he had survived battle with the Minbari, and had shown leadership qualities. _Sheridan is new in another way as well: he spoke in a different voice. His father is a diplomat; there are no other military in his family._ "Your point?" he asked.  
  
"We can't plan on 'winning'." John answered. "Whatever the Minbari want, they're going to get, or close to it. So we plan on that, and do the best we can. We're not fighting to win, we're fighting to survive. So what do they want?"  
  
Chee only shrugged, beyond looking for a reason. Clarke, Mowrey and Young looked angry: the unspeakable was unspeakable for a damn good reason. Rashid was scanning the room, looking for signs of panic.  
  
"We're being punished for killing their leader," John continued, voice firm. "All we can do is accept what punishment they feel is appropriate, since they have the strength." His eyes locked with Bethke's. "They want us dead. All of us -- dead." He scanned the rest of the room, lengthening the pause. "Or -- " he let a quiver of hope into his voice, " -- they want us out of space."  
  
All in the room seemed to let the air out of their lungs as one, not realizing their breath had been held. The spell of John's voice broken, everyone was released into their own fears.  
  
When John spoke again it was the voice again of a scared new CO. "That's our job now, isn't it?: Save something, save enough. Make their work hard enough, expensive enough, to encourage them to chose the lesser punishment, and leave us Earth. Leave us just enough to start over. Bomb us back to the Stone Age -- I'll take that, as long as there's someone left to remember."  
  
Somehow in his fatalistic words he gave determination, not despair. He accepted the loss as given and then gave them a goal they might hope to achieve, could die believing in ... and if the hope was futile, they wouldn't know.  
  
"OK, we've got the Enemy's motive down cold," Mowrey barked. "What's the damn plan?"  
  
-*-  
  
  
An hour of debate couldn't arrive at much. Once battle arrived, all would be chaos. Everyone could only do as they could -- guerilla warfare, kamikaze -- look for opportunity and don't think about 'after'. It would be the people on Earth who would rebuild.  
  
Somewhere at the center of the discussion Ireland observed, "They'll be arriving on the ecliptic -- "  
  
"You don't know that," someone else objected.  
  
"If they don't, there's no way block them, is there?" Gunsalus responded. "It's too much area to guard. It's the most likely path to Earth, that's where we should prepare. If we're not between them and Earth when they arrive we'll just have to run there to help."  
  
Bethke closed the meeting a bit further down the line before frustration could crash the room into wounding silence. As others filed out his eyes held John to remain.  
  
-*-  
  
  
"Sir," he said quietly.  
  
"Captain Sheridan," Bethke answered. Courtesy rank. "Your family's all on Earth, aren't they, Sheridan?"  
  
"Most of them," he answered, voice heavy with guilt. "I'm trying my best not to think of them specifically, sir." He did not know that Anna's parents were three weeks dead. She hadn't sent word. He'd barely skimmed the last three letters she'd sent -- it hurt too much to think of her, he couldn't let himself be concerned with anything so personal when his whole race was at stake.  
  
Robert and Edith had already faced -- and had been killed -- by Bethke's nightmare of inadequate resources. They had been trying to preserve part of the water supply from minbari poison when one of the containment walls ruptured. Water out of control is swift and deadly. What had been saved wouldn't be enough for the harvest, but they and the others had bought the survivors possibly three more weeks of hanging on.  
  
"You're right," Bethke said, "Earth must be saved." He spoke not quite as if their positions were reversed. He spoke as if John were the representation of Earth Force Defense, also on Earth. "We will do the best we can."  
  
  
**=== end chapter six ===**


	7. December 2247 The Battle of the Belt

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 7, Date: December 17 through 19, 2247 (two days before the Battle of the Line)**  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"When he destroyed the Black Star during the war he did not face it with honor. He mined an asteroid field, sent a fake distress signal and lured our ships into a trap."_

Ashann, _There All Honor Lies_

  
  
_"I hit on the idea of mining the asteroid field between Jupiter and Mars. A fusion bomb doesn't have to lock onto anything if it's close enough. We took out the _Black Star_ and three of their heavy cruisers before they could escape." _

John Sheridan, _Points of Departure_

  
-*-  
  
  
Ecliptic.  
  
"Well, Denny gets a cookie," John quipped.  
  
"Is someone holding out a stash?" McKay wondered.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Just as Dennis Ireland had predicted, the Minbari armada was approaching their final targets on the ecliptic. Jump points were forming like a swarm, just inside the orbit of Saturn. The mustering took upwards of thirty minutes to complete. A dozen jump points at a time would form, in minute intervals. Earth Command thought they were done after there was a six minute pause and had started to send statistics.  
  
And then the second wave began to appear.  
  
And there was a third after that.  
  
It was such arrogance, that gathering. The Minbari had dropped out of hyperspace days away from any target, hours away from the picket ships and hyperspace sentry detectors. They entered Sol system far enough away to prevent random accident, like a freighter carrying a fragile cargo, like an over-cautious Sunday driver. They exited far enough out that they could come in unhampered and widely spaced, cautious of the effect of too many jump points forming close together where a random eddy could send two ships towards one another. The off-chance of serious collision was more a threat, it appeared, than what was left of Earth Force.  
  
The enemy armada arrived at leisure, and took the time it needed to form ranks before beginning the approach. There was nothing to do but wait for it. As if anyone could sleep.  
  
_They will come to us, they think, the battle half won,_ John told himself silently. _No need for surprise, they will teach us terror._ Long range sensors could count the jump points as they opened, and could note the location, but that data would soon be obsolete. No coherent radar any frequency would reflect back with the accuracy needed for detonation at any speed that was useful. They could only use passive optical sighting, with its attendant problematical accuracy.  
  
The data feed from the local sensors was ambiguous. Soon there would be more accurate numbers coming from Command.  
  
-*-  
  
  
On all ships a watch was set and the rest of the crews were sent to sleep, if they could.  
  
At the six hour mark, confirmation came from Command: the path was straight to Earth. Io and Mars were being passed over. Ships that had been stationary then began to move, using precious fuel. The cruisers and destroyers that were guarding Io moved inwards to the belt, where a few destroyers and the _Geneva_ were already positioned. The Belt would be the first engagement.  
  
Earth would be the final defense. The _Boyington_, the _Rhodes_ -- the two cruisers at Mars -- and the youngest and fastest of the smaller ships were ordered to move to Earth.  
  
-*-  
  
  
"Two more hours, looks like."  
  
Captain George Mowrey had volunteered his cruiser _Victory_ to be at the front of the line, on the outer edge of the asteroid belt. Two more hours to live.  
  
_The Bonies, damn them, hadn't been lying. They still came, straight as an arrow. That fool Sheridan -- maybe not so foolish after all._  
  
The fusion "bombs" weren't the problem. Sheridan had requisitioned and had adapted the mining charges. They had been used to blow up larger asteroids, and the metals had been turned into ships to replace those the enemy had destroyed. (The new ships were destroyed as quickly as the old ships had been.) The leftover mess from those sloppy harvests was probably increasing his cover.  
  
The objection wasn't the bombs but the fuel used to set them. Sheridan had refueled twice and still must be running low, and there were other ships involved as well. A waste of a precious resource to set up a shot that probably couldn't be fired. Well, it looked like now that maybe the fool's gamble would pay off.  
  
Mowrey smiled grimly. _It's not for me to know._ Nor could he send the boy a 'thumbs up'. There was radio silence concerning tactics and status; all had been agreed upon earlier. The only messages coming in or relayed were data from what the long range scanners could deduce.  
  
Mowrey had guarded his fuel like a miser, getting ready for the charge, when the time came. Let speed be a cover: he might be able to flank one of the ships and shoot it in the back. _Maybe._ He gave small course corrections to Navigation, shifting to put his ship in front of the ambush. He saw other captains -- the others that knew -- doing likewise.  
  
Where he died mattered little. But if he could encourage the enemy to funnel its arrogant ass into a trap ... that was a pleasant thought to cling to.  
  
-*-  
  
  
The _Sam Adams_ was faced outwards along the ecliptic. John could see distant flashes. It was Earth Force ships that were destroyed in those explosions -- there was little doubt.  
  
John could feel the others on the bridge watching the lights of the distant battle with him. Some of them had managed to sleep; some of them had been able to eat and keep it down. (He had told Herbert Kilby, a mechanic who was also the cook, that if he had been hoarding to keep hoarding: strange (long absent) food on stressed stomachs was only an invitation for cramps.) It was strange to think of raisins as exotic.  
  
The ship had a complement, somewhat sparse, of eighty-five. Medical and security were understaffed. Because of the space needed for the mines he laid, he no longer had a full squad of starfuries; Dale Kostal was leading those who were left.  
  
His crew was all younger than his thirty-one years, except Janet Turk, his head engineer and Len Cadiz, who ran security. Turk had ten years and more on everyone. She had volunteered early, and had spent the whole war in the Belt getting the _Sam Adams_ and other old ships back into shape. During the Dilgar War she had been a design engineer in the factory that produced the then-new destroyers, and knew their obsolete ways better than most. She was now floating in the zero G section of engineering, with her assistants Lu Nigg and Phillip Verlich, putting all back in tune after the hurry and heavy work of laying the mines.  
  
Cadiz, his work done, stood uneasy against the far wall. There was, once again, little in the way of security work for him to do as the ship hung stationary at watch. The only communications channel still operational was on the bridge. As the ambush plan was being set he had been ever hovering to insure secrecy.  
  
There were five additional people on the bridge, and they were a good cross section of the composition of John's crew, a mixture of volunteers and draftees. Bob McKay, his exec, was standing closer than Cadiz. He had gotten one hand mangled while helping with the evacuation of East Alexandria, a factory sector on Leonis. There had been an argument with some "businessmen" who hadn't wanted to leave and the specialists on Earth had only managed a partial fix.  
  
Morry Cammack, young and angry, was at weapons. He hadn't been able to join Earth Force when the War started. He signed up the moment he could, as the minimum age had crept downward. His family was government workers, homes clustered in the suburbs of Geneva. Even there, real news was a sparse commodity. But the generals and senators couldn't hide their grim faces from the clerks and service people. If all he could do was to die killing invaders, then that was what he would do.  
  
Susila Kapura handled navigation with added attention, for local space was crowded with rocks. She was a late volunteer from Mars. Back home, she left her husband, Jagir, to take care of their two young children, Kami and Gu. The children still granted her deferment, but as the war came closer she felt one of her family needed to stand guard. One of Jagir's legs had been crushed in a mining accident years before, so it had been Susila that joined the defense.  
  
Daniel Aronson was also from Mars. His position was sensors, and he was continually trying to coax better data out of the fuzzy numbers being relayed from long range. He carried an anger greater than Cammack's, but kept it in check. With typical Marsie pragmatism, he did his job without complaint, but he had stayed out of the war until he was drafted. What were EA's wars to him? Mars had been left behind when jumpgates and hyperspace made other worlds more appealing. Mars had nothing anybody wanted. Since his specialty was remote sensing, he landed here instead of in a GROPO unit. The numbers he was working with were getting worse instead of better. The Earth Force fleet was beginning to lose their long range probes to Minbari attack. Aronson was getting further information shunted to him from Michael Loch, Communications, to add to what little _Sam Adams'_ sensors could pick up.  
  
Loch had family back on Earth, a remote rural area. He didn't speak much. He had had many friends in the outer colonies, and he had closed in on himself as first censorship and then enemy attacks had silenced those conversations. If he didn't have to think or speak he didn't have to deal with his fear. Off duty, he slept, or lost himself in Restoration drama, reading the same plays over and over until he had them memorized. It was a safe place to escape to, far away from "now."  
  
-*-  
  
  
The room was unnaturally silent; the crew nervously waited. John considered sending his mind in search of some gallows humor, but he couldn't spare the attention. And any attempt was likely to fall flat, or worse.  
  
Unlike John, none of his crew had seen combat close up, just frightening rumors. McKay was rock steady and good support. Every now and then, in private, John had been able to let out a few sentences and McKay would catch them nimbly, acknowledging without dwelling on it the weight of responsibility and futility they were working under. The rest his crew needed every scrap of the show of confidence he could glue to his face each morning. "The Minbari hate us," he explained. Then he added, "I don't know why," which was a lie. The specter of religiously mandated genocide was too much to put into their fears. "If we give them a good enough fight they'll be content to shove us back into our playpen and let us start over." He prayed constantly, hoping it wasn't a lie. _All who had died, all who would die in the ships, please let it be sufficient punishment._  
  
He could still remember the near panic in the faces of most of the crew when he, introducing himself, calmly told of the two ships that had been shot out from under him: the _Courir_ had suffered heavier losses than the _Eagle_, though they had managed minor damage to the enemy. The two Minbari cruisers had shot down three of ten Earth Force ships (ignoring the starfuries) as they burst out of the trap and went home.  
  
During the last months he had had to calm many of these people out of their nightmares and back to sleep. What he had said to Hague had been right. He hadn't been allowed to show fear or even admit to himself what he felt. It would have been too dangerous; he might have slipped. So far he hadn't, not by much. As the battle approached, he could only hope the lessons were well enough learned. The waiting was done. Only a little further to go.  
  
-*-  
  
  
The Minbari cruisers were monstrously huge. He had yet to hear of any Earth Force ships inflicting real damage. The only possible weakness of those ships was their size -- they were not swift to change direction -- and the arrogance of their crews, confident of victory. John smiled grimly. He would use that arrogance. He had set up a scenario that he hoped they would accept at face value ... and he could send some part of them to Hell. Maybe the bombs would be large enough.  
  
Setting mines wasn't a casual matter. If he had waited until he knew the enemy's course, they would have seen his scurrying. The field had to be already laid. That meant there had to be bait -- live bait -- in the center to lure in the target. And the trigger had to be a short directional command, or the Minbari would pick up warnings.  
  
The bait they'd chosen was the plundered ship the _Justo Rufino Barrios_, another of the old destroyers Turk had helped make in the war EA had won. The _Barrios_ had been in bad shape; now it was stripped and crew scattered.  
  
To make the bait "live" a signal generator had been attached to the hull to simulate (on brief glance) signals consistent with a manned ship having engine trouble, but with weapons armed.  
  
And the dangerous part, one volunteer, Andrew Tamera, who would stay behind to turn on the signal and read a script into a recorder once he knew which ship would be the other half of the conversation. Once his job was complete, he would jump into his 'fury and join up with the squad assigned to the _Eritrea_. It would be pushing the limits and perhaps put Gove's ship at greater risk but it was one piece of "civilized' they still clung to: Though they were all doomed, to plan for a specific death was unacceptable.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Tamara did his job and jumped ship as the Minbari had begun to engage the _Victory_ and other Earth Force ships on the front line. When the Minbari had gotten deeper into the Belt, John sent a signal to the _Barrios_ that started the recording.  
  
The script Tamara read before abandoning ship was a good imitation of command, playing the part of Frank Choi, who had been in command of the _Barrios_, calling that engines were down and he needed cover.  
  
"Roger that -- " answered the voice of Mark Mayhill, the _Veneto_, in real time, promising help, but his ship wasn't on the trajectory he was saying it was. In the confusion after the blast he might be able to surprise someone.  
  
Laura Kamins (who knew better) butted in, screaming at Mayhill to stay in position, that he didn't have time. She knew about the ambush, she was adding verisimilitude. Her ship, the _Golda Meir_ was in fast retreat before the Minbari, positioning herself to score some hits against wounded ships after the explosion. John wished her luck, remembering her quip to Sharon Doheny, CO of the _Celebes_: Kamins had been the one woman of the last four CO's to be assigned destroyers at Io. "Of course," she had groused to Doheny, "they had gave me the one open ship named for a woman. At least my ship is the right sex." (The "he" or "she" debate regarding the gender of _Sam Adams_ had been a favored time-filler during the waiting.)  
  
_John, John,_ he chided himself, at the thought he'd be giving Laura prey to finish off. _You sound as if you think this is going to work._ He only did it -- this "fool plan", nothing but desperation -- because he had to do something, _anything_. He'd been past the point of no return when the thought of embarrassment occurred to him and he had shoved it away. Art Chalkey, in the _Marat_ had been glad of the activity and even gladder it would be John's head "to roll" if the plan failed (as if there would be anything beyond dying curses to enact sentence). "Better you than me," Chalkey had said as he began setting out his second round of bombs. "I'll risk a fall, Art," he had told him, "on the chance of doing some good."  
  
He'd passed the first hurdle: the enemy was coming in on the ecliptic and so the shot had a chance of being fired. Had he failed on that gamble, that was something he'd have been able to apologize for. But now that the shot _could_ be fired he would be rightfully damned if he missed.  
  
_Please, God,_ he prayed a censored prayer of the doomed, _don't let me f*ck up._ Death seemed certain, but his reputation was still at stake.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Cadiz stood against the back wall, arms crossed, barely able to follow what was happening around him. His work finished, all he could do was watch the screens and pray.  
  
_I don't want to die._ It was a mantra that repeated with increasing urgency as the battle approached. Everything he had done in the war, every action had been to keep himself alive, away from the front. The front was soon to wash over him, despite all the contacts and favors and politicking. He had lost his last skirmish and had been assigned here, to the _Sam Adams_, a floating coffin, while his rival had been assigned to Earth. Cadiz couldn't see the Minbari ships on the screens, only the defense system's best guesses. But he could feel them coming, coming to kill him.  
  
_You don't see me,_ he told them in a silent whisper. _I'm invisible. I'm hanging in space, silent, already dead for all you know. Don't look at me. Life signs, you could read the life signs, but that's a small sound -- all these ships firing, so much noise -- don't look at us, we're nothing but static. Deadly static, we will kill you. Some of you.  
  
And the blast will make us blind,_ he prayed. _And if we can't see, we can't fight. And if we don't fight the other Minbari won't see us and they'll leave us alive. Leave me alive. I want to live._  
  
Cadiz had been assigned on the _Sam Adams_ not much longer than John, and he already had a reputation of being a sullen loner. The change of command had been no improvement. Just like Lt. Cmdr. Gerald Havlir, John Sheridan, the ass, figured he had a charmed life. Havlir had survived the Dilgar invasion, and John seemed equally careless, equally willing to "be the hero." Cadiz had spent every sleepless night shaking in fear, though he had managed to keep others from seeing his shame. And then John had started wondering about bombs and laying an ambush. Cadiz hadn't paid attention until the requisition was drafted ten days ago. Then -- it was a heart-stopping revelation -- he grabbed onto the plan as a drowning man to the rescue rope.  
  
This was his lucky ticket off the front, out of the company of the rest of the cannon fodder: an ambush, and John was the triggerman. The front, the killing fields, would spread all around him but Cadiz would have a safe haven, a place to hide and no one to brand him "coward" because everyone else would be would be diversion, protecting John so he could aim his shot.  
  
Or, if Minbari intelligence somehow found out, the _Sam Adams_ would be ground zero and Cadiz would be among the first to die. So he had guarded the secret with his life, which, of course, it was. All the sullenness had disappeared and -- desperation hidden -- he coordinated the necessary communications, keeping all secure and zero scuttlebutt.  
  
-*-  
  
  
_Soon now,_ John thought, hands fisting.  
  
"_Marat's_ getting too close," Aronson said, meaning "too close to the kill zone". That was something he had spoken about to Chalkey, Choi, Mowrey and the others in their elliptical discussions as the ambush was set. If the Minbari saw a hole, they might wonder. No one wanted to be caught in the blast, but they had to be close enough to keep the target on track.  
  
There was a flash. "He's down," Aronson continued in the same flat voice.  
  
And that was that. Space was too cluttered with weapons fire to hear the beacons of any life pods. He didn't want to go there.  
  
"_Kilkenney_ is also hit," Loch added from Communications. "And _Veneto_ and ... _Pace_, I think." His voice shook. Any moment now.  
  
"Michael," John answered him calmly, "tell Dale 'ready'."  
  
Loch flipped open the channel to their screen of 'furies and repeated the one word command. Kostal and the other pilots prepared to turn their backs to the ambush point, to use their engines as partial shielding against the bombs' deadly radiation.  
  
Earth Force ships and fighters necessarily had protection against high energy cosmic rays that were ubiquitous outside the range of planetary magnetic fields. However, that shielding couldn't handle the intense scale of radiation he was going to generate, which was equivalent at the ambush point to playing dodge-the-ground on the surface of a star. Personnel had been cleared from outer decks on the _Sam Adams_ and other nearby ships.  
  
Fighter squads -- mobile protection -- had to be deployed, but they stayed close as they could to their mother ships. Their best protection was their bulky engines, and close medical attention.  
  
Aronson announced, "_Barrios_ just exploded." The decoy had the enemy now in range. He hoped Tamara had gotten far enough away. The first ships were already further in-system, scattered firefights were occurring front and starboard. The denser cluster of ships was coming into range.  
  
"On my mark," John said. "Comm, then Weapons."  
  
Loch and Cammack both had their hands were poised above the switches that would send their signals. A tight knot of ships seemed to be approaching point zero.  
  
John swallowed. If he didn't time this right, or even if he did, he could very well be causing as many Earth Force casualties as Minbari. He studied the flickering Minbari ghosts on the tactical display. Nuclear bombs were a hell of a bad weapon for accuracy.  
  
"Turn."  
  
Loch broadcast the order to all 'fury pilots that could hear. There would be no time for the Minbari to move out of the way, but time enough for pilots to pivot if they had bearings enough. If they were caught in the wrong orientation and saw the flash that would mean they got the worst of it. A late turn, away from the light, would prevent the slower-moving particle radiation from being added to hard x-rays, and that could make a difference when they got to medlab. Most squads had been drilled in the "turn" maneuver, and would have been briefed as to why when they were deployed for battle.  
  
There was barely a half-second's pause. "Fire."  
  
Cammack sent the signal to explode the bombs.  
  
-*-  
  
  
John caught his breath. For a moment there was the impression of a blinding white light before the sensors burning out. There were muffled cheers. There was no proof, but he and everyone else that watched had to believe that they had accomplished what they had set out to do, that the bombs had killed Minbari targets.  
  
He was flatly amazed. The Minbari were invincible, weren't they? Somehow (the fact that he couldn't figure out how was irrelevant) he was expecting them to figure out his plan, disable the bombs, and that in his last moments of life he would be starring at the quiet space of a failed ambush. And then, to the sound of unseen laughter, a monstrous ship would turn toward him, weapons blazing, and he would die knowing he had failed.  
  
He smiled, standing on the bridge of his blinded ship, unable to believe his luck.  
  
-*-  
  
  
The bombs had exploded, charges timed to offset the natural dissipating effect of empty vacuum. A nuclear bomb exploded on a planet had its destructiveness magnified by pushing the material of the atmosphere and ground. In space there was no medium to carry a shockwave. John countered this by the excessive number of bombs he exploded in the small area and by focusing the mining charges to send bits of exploded asteroid into the center as projectiles.  
  
Normally, Minbari counter-measures would have destroyed or deflected the jagged rocks. The EM burst made them less effective, and intense radiation did the rest: killing instantly deep into the ships. Injured survivors scrambled to get defenses back on line and secure damaged areas, no longer concerned with attack. One cruiser was blown into pieces; three others were set to explode after survivors were evacuated. Several other ships, further from the blast center, suffered damage as well.  
  
-*-  
  
  
The _Sam Adams_, a destroyer, was a tenth of the size of the Minbari heavy cruisers John had targeted. Even fifteen radii out from the kill zone, the more exposed electrical systems -- sensors and communications especially -- took a beating from the high energy radiation. Tailored cut-offs had been programmed in when the ambush was being set, but they could only protect so much. Formerly dormant backups began to click in.  
  
Emergency radio came up before the tactical display. Kostal's voice came through the static. " -- tain, you see that? Got 'em, we _got_ 'em!" All the 'furies had had back-up radios installed.  
  
"We have you," John answered. "Put the volume down. Can you eyeball? We're still blind."  
  
"Nothing local. Half my instruments are fried. No tactical. Hard to tell. Hey squad, anyone got eyes?"  
  
He was answered by a chorus of "No"'s.  
  
"Radiation?" he wondered. "You all there?"  
  
"Four second warning scream. We all had our backs to it."  
  
John saw tactical was back. Fuzzy. He squinted at the display for a moment, then turned to McKay. "Do you see anything in that that looks like weapons activity?"  
  
"Soup," was his opinion. "But I'd say you're right: peaceful soup."  
  
"Send this to our pilots," John told Loch. "Back to the barn, everyone. Dr. Shair's waiting." He then turned his attention to Aronson, wanting the static cleared away.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Behind John and McKay, it took a while for Cadiz to absorb the meaning of what was happening around him. The Minbari were not going to turn to mop up. He had held back his objection to John calling in the pilots as pointless: his Jarhead CO would not have listened. Enemy ships had been destroyed, but only a handful. Cadiz had felt sure the rest would strike even harder in revenge. They didn't. They'd collected their wounded and continued on their way, leaving a dying ruin of Earth Force ships behind them.  
  
It was all Cadiz could do to keep standing.  
  
-*-  
  
  
John watched as Aronson got the boards clean, filtering out the veil of debris. He was relieved to see his first impression -- no immediate threat -- had been correct. His fool, desperate plan had worked! The adrenaline rush was making him a tad dizzy.  
  
The fighters were coming in at a good speed. He wanted them to get to Medlab, and anyone else who had gotten a radiation warning. His thoughts moved from battle to the next order of business: rescue and regroup.  
  
Caution returning, he wondered if he's called his screen in too early, but the _Sam Adams_ had not been engaged with the enemy at the time of the explosion. An engagement now was less likely now because of the chaos. The Minbari seemed preoccupied -- as he was -- with rescue. For the pilots, every wasted moment would have its price in Medlab.  
  
Logical concerns, but the larger picture was again coming clear. For a short time, the explosion had closed John in and he had joined his crew and rejoiced in the victory. But this local success only underscored his ultimate failure. Despair settled in to numb his soul as the data Aronson reported confirmed what he saw on the flickering tactical display: it was now as it had been two days before, only two days closer to Earth. His attack had made a small hole in the enemy ranks ... that would soon disappear as the ships were shifting position to compensate. It was no more than a ripple, and the schedule would be kept. "See you in Hell," McKay said to the screen. No other reckoning seemed probable.  
  
-*-  
  
  
The Minbari ships were giving the blast zone a wide berth. Those entering were using grappling beams, not weapons, picking up survivors. Most Earth Force ships stayed as they were, keeping radio silence, watching. Automatic beacons were sounding from the lifepods. Some few were silenced by Minbari weapons. Dying Earth Force ships sent out calls for help when they could wait no longer. Answers followed after.  
  
The _Sam Adams_ proved to have suffered only minor systems damage once backups came on line. Like many of the frigates, the ship hadn't been targeted. Now that the battle was done, the frigates moved in to give their help. They didn't have much more ordinance than a 'fury, they couldn't dance and spin as a 'fury could spin, but they had space and air. The picked up lifepods and docked to evacuation air locks of the distressed larger ships, getting the surviving crews out of smoke-poisoned air. The frigates soon became lifeboats in turn, having spent all their fuel in frantic rescue. They waited for pickup from better-fueled survivors. Those that could helped each other, but for those ships that had both speed and range the battle was not finished. They were to pursue the enemy to Earth.  
  
Only three destroyers made that journey. The larger Earth Force cruisers had all been targeted; the smaller frigates and individual 'furies didn't have the range.  
  
The _Golda Meir_ had led the pack, running fast before the Minbari ships, Kamins had not, for speed, deployed her starfury squadrons. She turned at the moment of the explosion, and sped back outwards firing at a pair of ships caught in the outer edges of the effect that were moving erratically. She scored some damage, and got her weapons systems fried in response. Then the Minbari turned their first attention to their own injured and the _Golda Meir_ was passed by. Following the armada were the still undamaged ships the _Nehru_, the _Moyale_ and the _Celebes_.  
  
"How many berths?" Kamins transmitted to the later two, whose inbound paths would bring them close. Fourteen of her thirty-two 'furies jumped out to take the place of others lost, and hitched their way to the Line.  
  
-*-  
  
  
On the _Sam Adams_, John and the rest of the crew of watched as the chase sorted out, knowing their part was done.  
  
At the weapons station, Cammack's hand shook as he powered down the systems from "battle" to "at ready". He knew what the next order would be, and he didn't want to hear it. The order wouldn't be pursuit.  
  
John could easily read Cammack's emotion because he felt the same way. Felt the same and dared not let his rage be seen. He got out of his chair to stand between the weapons officer and the tactical screen. A smaller and less detailed screen was above the weapons control panel. "Something on your mind, Morry?" he asked.  
  
He could see the young man's mouth working, trying to form the words. Nothing could come out. The weapons batteries Cammack had charge of were full, the enemy was on his screens, but moving farther away every moment. He had to pursue. He had to protect his family, or die in the trying. Cammack no longer stood between the enemy and home.  
  
"We fired a shot," John assured him. "A damn good shot. What we have won't go to waste. We've got a full load. All the better to hold the Enemy back at Mars."  
  
"They're going to kill Earth."  
  
"The people," John corrected softly. He could not allow anyone to question his orders. "Not the planet. Not all memory. One day we will reclaim it."  
  
"We could -- "  
  
"No." He saw Cammack's fists ball, saw his teeth clench against mutinous demands. "We won't."  
  
The best defense against the crew questioning Earth Command's standing orders, John knew, was for him to resolutely follow those orders. He returned to his chair. "What's our best route to Mars?" he asked Kapura. "I want to go half speed through the battle area, to pick up survivors as we can, but we need to reach Mars in five days or less." They didn't have the fuel to reach Earth. Not after planting the mines. He ran the numbers in his head. _At quarter speed we could get to Earth, and make an unstable orbit. Maybe some would still be alive. No way to get down, no way to know where anyone was. No fuel to maneuver to use our ordinance._ It would be a foolish, useless gesture, much as he ached to follow. They would die. There were dead all around him, so many dead -- people he'd come to know & care for, for all too short a time -- he pushed it back. He would honor them and the dead of Earth later, if he could.  
  
Fighting back tears, Kapura rechecked her navigation boards. It was too many dead. It had always been too many dead, every battle she'd ever heard of. The reality, of course, was worse than any nightmare description. "We can do it, sir," she answered. "I don't know the best route, yet -- " The cloud of flashing rescue requests on the screen was still slowly rearranging. "I don't know which of these don't have near ships to pick them up." For good or ill, the desperate calls had already blinked off before the _Sam Adam's_ screen had come back up.  
  
"Turn and take a middle route, then. Slow," John told her, then asked Loch to put general calls on the speaker. It was an overlapping and increasing chatter of interchanges as pickups were arranged. John inserted his own call, using the same volume as he had broadcast the "Turn" command, so that any ship in the central part of the battle area could hear. He told Loch to record the message and repeat as needed.  
  
"Attention all pilots," he said clearly in a tone of gallows humor. "We have sixteen seats available for travel to MacFlanarry's Farm." That was slang for a processing district north of Oxia Palus. No one wanted to give the Enemy a reason to notice Mars. Once out of the battle area the ship would return to radio silence. "Please phone in your reservation. We have a doctor on board for your convenience." Shair had reported that none of Kostal's squad had taken a bad dose, so he was still well equipped to take patients.  
  
-*-  
  
  
"The crew," McKay prompted.  
  
"You start," John told him.  
  
As the ship moved through the battle area, McKay spoke ship-wide, explaining that the final orders from Command had been received before the battle: To engage and pursue to Earth, if possible; or to go to Mars as the second choice, to defend that colony if the Minbari attacked there after they were finished with Earth. "We have been ordered to Mars and not to our home base of Io, because Command believes that, in the probable event that Earth is lost, that Mars has the chance of self-sufficiency, while Io does not."  
  
Then John took over. "I know this is a difficult thing, to leave Earth to its fate: it is beyond our help. We're also leaving Io, that gave us our air and food. The situation everywhere is the same."  
  
John reviewed the last status report shortly before battle. Last month was the last news from Orion 7; they reported their water system destroyed and without irrigation their harvest would fail and they'd starve. He had failed Anna's parents. He had no news, no indication of how much longer they might hold on. The air system for New London Station had started to malfunction; with every recycling they were losing one or two percent of their oxygen reserves. Every colony and outpost was the same.  
  
"The Minbari pattern is to strike, and then leave their victims for dead," he continued. "We will take advantage of their 'efficiency.' We will survive, though their projections call us 'dead.'" He paused. "The Enemy is passing over Io and Mars, convinced that without Earth they will die as well. Io is over-crowded. Mars -- " He looked at Aronson, whose returning look was an icy stare. " -- Frozen, air-starved. It can't survive. So they think. We'll prove them wrong."  
  
Aronson's thoughts were bitterly satisfied. After all these years of ridicule and no help it was about time Mars got some respect. It was no thanks to Earthgov that Mars was near to self-sufficiency. Down came the hammer and suddenly the Softies are asking the Marsies for help. He chose to read in John's "we" a recognition and apology for those wrongs. It was probably naive and wishful thinking. _No matter. There was work to be done._ "Yes we will, sir."  
  
John returned his promise with a grim smile. Then he continued to the full crew. "There's a second part to this announcement. It will take us five days to reach Mars. At that time we may be called upon to die defending our new home. Or not. We will know soon. At their present speed the Minbari will reach Earth in two days. They will do what they will do; from our distance we will be able to see the broad shape of it. We will also be able to guess that day or soon after if they intend to attack Mars. Let us pray they will not."  
  
There was uneasy stirring throughout the ship. The crew had now, first hand, seen battle. Further battle meant almost certain death, but only battle gave them a chance for revenge.  
  
John was looking beyond the painful, inevitable ending. "The war is not yet done. Nevertheless, we must now look to the time beyond. To live may be a harder thing than to have died.  
  
"All we have known will change. Mars is to be Humanity's lifeboat. That is President Auden's final order. What we have is what we have. No more." A long pause. "I want all of you to understand that fully. What you own isn't yours any more, not if it might mean survival. We're all half-starved from short rations. Now is not the time to say, 'It doesn't matter,' and wallow in one last binge. Mars will get no more shipments from Earth. No more food, no medicine, no replacement parts. In your kit you may have a reader, and crystals with letters from home, all you have left. We may need the circuits in your reader to repair an environment system. We may need your data crystals to store crop projections. I don't know what kind of reserves Mars has. I know we probably won't have the time or means to off-load all that could possibly be of use before we need to turn and fight. I'm assuming that, afterwards, the government won't be able to afford to keep more than a few ships in service.  
  
"I'm putting Ensign Aronson in charge of this collection detail." He turned to him, and received a nod in answer. "He's Mars-born and will have better knowledge of what's most likely to be needed. When we get closer, he can make inquiries and final choices."  
  
John paused, but he left the comm channel open. He couldn't end this speech without some kind of pep-talk, but his heart rebelled. It was an eerie feeling, to have to plan for the future when he could not yet mourn his loses. The greater dying was still to come.  
  
"We have work to do," he said quietly. "It'll be a hard job, but it's there. We haven't got the option of giving up. There's always a future. We may go down, but we'll be protecting mankind's new home. Earth may be lost to us, but Mars will survive."  
  
Behind him, Aronson nodded. His eyes were cold and resolute. Cammack and the others from Earth tried to find strength.  
  
-*-  
  
  
John sat, silent, in his captain's chair. As duty required, he kept on his mask; his crew required him to be strong. Tonight he would have to start his rounds again, to listen and quiet the emotions just enough that his people could rest and face the morning. _One day at a time._  
  
If he looked through a viewport, Earth would be no more than a dot of light, the enemy ships invisible. On the tactical display, his home was a small, vulnerable, blue disk. And the red points of light, the Minbari armada on its way.  
  
He looked at Earth, the symbol and the memory. _Do they know, he wondered, the people there? Have they been told? Or do they know it in their bones, despite government assurances, do they know they're going to die?_  
  
He was spent, all emotion drained. Everything he had had to give hadn't been enough. The Minbari hadn't stopped. How could he have ever hoped they would? Earth was going to fall.  
  
And in his despair, new grief awakened. He could no longer prevent it. He thought of home: Mom, Dad, Lizzy, ... Anna.  
  
The thumb and forefingers of his right hand pressed either side of the ring finger of the left, and he willed himself to feel his wedding ring there, as he knew Anna could feel hers. There was nothing more he could do for her, for anyone on Earth. Inside, where his crew could not see, he wept and grieved.  
  
_Why am I still alive?_  
  
  
**=== end chapter seven ===**


	8. December 21, 2247 Watching the Line

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======

**Chapter 8 Date: December 21, 2247 (Battle of the Line) **  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"We never had a chance. You say we could have won, but you weren't there. You didn't see them. When I looked at those ships I didn't just see my death, I saw the death of the whole damned human race." _

Jeffrey Sinclair, _And the Sky Full of Stars_

  
-*-  
  
  
The seating chart didn't make the cut. The working copy had been carefully taken off the kitchen wall, folded, and put with the rest of the wedding mementoes in John's top drawer weeks ago -- when the letters stopped coming, when the fear grew too great to be laughed at.  
  
In October John, some few weeks a "captain", had spoken to her long distance from his office on the _Sam Adams_. That had been the last time she'd heard his voice, though she pulled out a letter now and then to reread. Text on a screen seemed a more comforting embrace: she could lose herself in the past. As late as June they were still able to trade wedding "memories" in their letters, though the edges were beginning to fray. He had sent apology that he couldn't be with her for their "anniversary", she'd responded, "that's all right", and thanked him for the virtual flowers and chocolate.  
  
But to see his face on the screen, the strain of seeing what the war had done to them -- their smiles, their voices -- had been almost too much to bear.  
  
It had been a family call at first. They had pulled a bench in front of the comm screen and she had sat in the center with Carol on one side and David on the other. Carol had a bad time of it, hands wringing, aching to touch her son, but there was too much space between them. Liz had her hands on Anna's shoulders. She had tried to say something cheerful, but the congratulations to her big brother about "so you got yourself a ship, Johnny" somehow didn't seem to be a matter for celebration.  
  
"Did your -- " John began.  
  
"My parents are still on Orion," Anna had interrupted, knowing what he was going to say. "They couldn't leave." "Couldn't" or "wouldn't" was the unasked question.  
  
John's jaw tensed, then he made it relax. He knew things he wasn't allowed to say. "We'll stop them," he'd promised. He tried to make it sound as if he believed.  
  
"It's good to see you, son." David's face had been calm and sad "I suppose we should let you two be alone."  
  
The others had left. She had put her hand on the screen at the sound of the door closing. John had reached forward as well, but the camera lens was at the top of the screens, so there was no way to make their fingers "touch." She pulled her hand back. "I love you."  
  
"I love you," he had answered.  
  
She had fought back tears, seeing he was doing the same.  
  
The war was coming; it was just a matter of time.  
  
She was afraid. She could be brave, knowing he was brave.  
  
He could be brave, knowing she was so.  
  
But she had not been brave -- her hands had trembled out of sight of the camera lens -- she had not been strong.  
  
-**-  
  
  
Anna stood before the fence that was the perimeter line. The entrance to the shelter was eighty yards back. Small patches of the snow in hiding from the unrelenting wind could be seen as dim grey patches on the dark ground. The moon had set behind thin, grey clouds on the horizon. The stars above were bright against black.  
  
She was a coward. She had spent the last time John and she had had together -- the only time they had spent together since she had declared herself his wife -- silently begging for the conversation to end before she broke and destroyed him as well as herself. What could she have said to him? "I wait for your return"? -- They were both going to die. All her family would be gone. "I want to marry you for real"? -- She couldn't let cruel fate take away their illusion. They were one. The ring she wore _was_ a wedding ring. His hand had put it there.  
  
-***-  
  
  
"I think of you always."  
  
"I know."  
  
John signed off before his time was up.  
  
-***-  
  
  
She had written a few more letters after that. They weren't answered, and she had stopped writing. They both had their solitary jobs to do now: His was to die, hers was to survive -- if she could. There would be more chance now in the exiled places, scattered and hidden among the stars, "home" forever lost.  
  
The seating chart was folded and tucked in the back pocket of the wedding album, after the guest list and gift list, copies of the invitation and announcement, various computer generated "wedding pictures" and the dinner choices. The gown she wore in the pictures was white satin, borrowed from a relative of Elytis. John's ring had sat in a velvet box on top.  
  
It had been a long time since she had made any revisions to the chart. At the start there had been lots of shifting. But if someone died, his spot didn't move. There had been too many deaths. There would soon be too many more.  
  
Two weeks ago President Auden had officially announced to the Senate what they all had known would come. He expected the Minbari to arrive in Sol system "soon", and the "worst case" scenarios were now "drills" not "exercises".  
  
A Civil Defense Block sergeant called house to house, making a census. Anna had noticed Carol listed her as "Anna Sheridan" and "daughter-in-law". She didn't know if the sergeant knew about the fiction and was cooperating or hadn't crosschecked records.  
  
It had been a cold comfort.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Anna put John's ring on a gold chain and hung it on her neck. The rest of the wedding memories and the rest of his and her belongings were left at home, behind locked doors. Her cats had long since been sent to the farm. All she had taken with her to the shelters had been tools and clothing -- tough work clothes. She had his jacket for a coat. She wore it now, trying to feel his embrace.  
  
No one knew how the invasion would happen: ground assault or bombardment, or if the weapons would be explosive, chemical or biological.  
  
Everyone was ordered to retreat to shelters until the government could guess what the attack strategy was. The government structure had been decentralized, except for space defense. Local governing units were set up to be self-sufficient. It was hoped that some pockets of freedom could be preserved while fighting occurred elsewhere.  
  
The Deaseys and other outsystem refugees who moved here were included in the Arvada shelter. The education committee had approached Henry. Despite his "clerical" occupation, Henry had a colonial's broad expertise for improvisation and storytelling and he used that talent trying to help keep people's spirits up as they waited. "Can you teach people how to build tools?" they had asked him. The future might be back to frontier technology or further. They would stay inside with the children and the old, and the younger men (and the younger women -- such as Anna -- who couldn't be convinced to hide) stayed outside as guards.  
  
-*-  
  
  
"What's their prognosis?"  
  
In all, five of the sixteen pilots and four of the 28 others that had been taken on board _Sam Adams_ from dead, dying or retreating ships had absorbed significant levels of ionizing radiation. "Peter Foste is going to die. He's the second pilot we picked up from _Geneva_. He was out of control and got caught in the wrong orientation. Elsee Onstadd, the first pilot, is staying with him. Foste's dropped into a coma, and that's just as well. He was panicked, delirious, struggling to get home to his family."  
  
That was an overriding fear, and it was best not to speak about "home" openly. The Enemy was less than a day from Earth; the data feeds had at last gone silent two hours ago.  
  
"Right now everyone else is in the second, 'false recovery' stage: the transitory nausea has quieted. They didn't absorb enough radiation to kill immediately. Foste got fifteen RU's. The rest here got seven, nine or ten. I pumped them all full of rejuv packs to hold off internal bleeding. The serious injury can take two, three weeks to show up, as damaged cell walls fail. Then -- down the line -- there will be an increased chance of cancer. The tens -- and probably some of the nine's -- are at risk. Each body is going to react a bit differently. So no one knows at this point.  
  
"Currently, their greatest risk is infection: their immune systems have been knocked out. The treatments have zapped anything internal, and they need to stay in strict isolation. Probably for weeks, since we're trying to conserve drugs. Each of them should stay in a sterile environment until we're absolutely sure his or her immune system is fully recovered."  
  
-*-  
  
  
John spoke to the pilots through the clear wall that separated the isolation area from the rest of the ship. It was tight quarters and he could tell they didn't like it much.  
  
"I have to concur with the doctor's decision," he said, and they groaned. He understood well their emotion was more than wanting more elbow room. "However," he continued, "I have been told that at your level of exposure your medical condition won't change a significant amount over a six hour time period. He agrees with me that 'in your suits and in your 'furies' is 'isolated'."  
  
They all stood straighter, nervous motion quieted.  
  
John smiled. "We're sterilizing your suits now, and McKay will get them in to you so you can seal up the little tears and so on. If we have to make a stand at Mars, you'll be called a half hour before the rest. If you can pass the checklist, you're flying."  
  
He was answered by a chorus of "Yes, sir"'s and "Thank you, sir"'s.  
  
"I wish I could join you," he replied.  
  
-*-  
  
  
The _Sam Adams_ was traveling to Mars under a strict communications silence; Cadiz was again hovering to make sure the blackout wasn't broken. They were not even trading reports with their fellow travelers, the _Formidable_ and the _Lagos_. The _Lagos_, which had been end line and lightly damaged, was running roughly parallel to the _Sam Adams_, but the cruiser soon fell behind. The _Formidable_ had been the last of the cruisers to be hit by Minbari forces, and had kept its hull integrity, a few of its guns, and some of its speed. It was going to take over two weeks for her to reach Mars, compared to the destroyers' five days.  
  
Though no messages went out, Cadiz listened carefully to all he could hear of the radio transmissions from Io. He did his usual wizardry and pulled together a battle report.  
  
John stood silently as Cadiz spoke. First he updated him about the _Sam Adams_ pilots that had been transferred to other ships to make room for bombs. Two had reclaimed their berths at John's "reservations" call, and four others had sent their regrets. Of the other ten, Cadiz had located three living, two confirmed dead, and the rest still unaccounted for.  
  
"The cruisers were all targeted," he continued, drawing the larger picture. "Besides _Formidable_, we have _Victory_. I haven't heard of any survivors. _Repulse_, the other cruiser at the front of the line, made it part way to Io before she fell apart. Most of the crew died from fumes before they could evacuate. _Geneva_, in the center, was split apart. She had more survivors; there were ships nearby to help. _Keren_ picked up her CO, Gunsalus, and he's back on Io now, helping Bethke.  
  
"Of the destroyers, _Nehru_, _Celebes_, and _Moyale_ are heading for Earth, but _Moyale_ is dropping behind -- I think it's _Moyale_. I don't know why. _Golda_ was hit, but cleanly. She'll make it to Io soon." John's last three empty "seats" for "MacFlanarry's Farm" had been filled by pilots from _Golda Meir_. The pilots could afford to make a long journey to join the _Sam Adams_ as they had not been exposed to radiation. "_Veneto_ and _Eritrea_ might have been able to get to Mars, but _Eritrea_ got more radiation and burn injuries than her med facilities could handle. Mayhill said he didn't trust how long his weakened hull would last. Instead, _Veneto_ used up its fuel taking a zigzag path to Io, picking up lifepods."  
  
It was more than enough cause for survivor guilt. John had made a plan. It had worked ... but in the end the gesture had been useless, not enough damage done to the enemy. Nevertheless, he was alive. He dreaded the answer, but he had to ask. _I'm afraid all the other members of the plan died._ "Any word on _Marat?_"  
  
"Not a peep." Cadiz had spoken many times with his counterpoint on the _Marat_, as the crews of both ships laid mines. "Sorry, sir. _Nevsky_, _Hong Kong_, and about half the frigates are down. It may take Io days to sort it out."  
  
"Tamera?"  
  
Cadiz shook his head. "Again, sorry. Choi's been asking after him, too. Not to mention the rest of his scattered crew." Frank Choi, last CO of _Barrios_, the bait, had been working with Bethke to prepare The colony for attack. He was now coordinating rescue operations. "The last anyone heard, Tamera had jointed up the _Eritrea's_ Beta Squad, as planned. He didn't call for pickup; only half the squad did." That close to the explosion, space was dangerous with shrapnel, and the radiation exposure had been almost inevitably fatal. 'Pods and 'furies weren't picked up unless the dying occupants were conscious and asking for rescue. Further out from the ambush the cleanup was more thorough.  
  
_We're all that's left._ "Damn."  
  
"It looks like we were the lucky ones, sir," Cadiz said carefully, trying not to betray his emotions. "Over all, the casualty rate must be half or more."  
  
-*-  
  
  
Anna adjusted the binoculars again. Some of the stars she saw might be the big Minbari ships. She couldn't tell. Soon there would be signs she could read.  
  
The Minbari armada had passed over Io and Mars, coming directly -- ponderously slow -- to Earth. There had been a battle at the Asteroid Belt two days before. She had listened to a terse report on the CDN radio yesterday. _Did John die there?_  
  
Flash.  
  
_Did I see that?_ Anna slowed her scan. Another small flash of light. There were murmurs from people beside her, and she thought she might have moaned herself. In the silence of space, ships and soldiers were dying, ripped apart in explosion. The lights appeared more frequently now.  
  
Every flash was another death.  
  
She prayed for the peace of their souls.  
  
  
**=== end chapter eight ===**


	9. December 22, 2247 Surrender

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 9 Date: December 22, 2247 (second day of the Battle of the Line) **  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"What happened?"  
"I'm not entirely sure." _

Delenn and John Sheridan, _Comes the Inquisitor_

  
-*-  
  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's not a mistake, sir." The comm tech repeated. "They surrender."  
  
Lt. Goodman's face was pale, stomach ready to rebel. General Kennid Stott continued his motion to stand and step closer to the illegible tactical screen. He was in command of Earth Defenses, the War Room buried deep inside the southern Alps. Earth Alliance President Patrick Auden stood in the back, observing. Both men had sent their families to the other deep shelter in central Turkey days ago.  
  
What madness was this?  
  
"'Gun ports are open'," Lt. Cmdr. Hiroshi quoted under her breath.  
  
No one else was supposed to hear that, but Stott was too close to the knife's edge not to. "_What?_" he demanded.  
  
Hiroshi snapped into automatic, reading her boards. "As far as I can tell on incomplete data their weapons are still active, but not discharging. I'm only getting long range data; _all_ of our ships are down." There had been over twelve thousand kamikaze 'furies added to the battleships and 'furies already there. "The original estimate of enemy heavy vessels hasn't changed." The long-range scanners had estimated that two hundred Minbari "cruisers" and "destroyers" had jumped out of hyperspace five days before. The smaller of the two class of ship were still larger than anything Earth Force had. Half or more of the enemy had not engaged in the battle at the Asteroid Belt. It seemed some damage had occurred, but it wasn't enough to lower the numbers.  
  
At the start of the battle to protect Earth, Earth Force starfuries had outnumbered Enemy single fighters five to one. They had been scattered like dust, winking off her boards. Two thousand of those 'furies had still been in factories less than a week before to be flown by young pilots trained on simulators. In the blank panels that would have normally held long-range navigation displays workers had written messages with white marking pens: _Help to you, May God protect you_ -- it hadn't mattered.  
  
"If the Enemy plans bombardment they are well within range," Hiroshi announced to the room. She summarized the various doomsday scenarios from the Strategy Team report. "They aren't in formation for a ground assault." _Why should they risk their troops when the air and oceans stood exposed to be poisoned?_ It was all she could do to keep the anger out of her voice for the data to be presented without prejudice.  
  
Stott looked at the President.  
  
President Auden -- leader of a dying race -- looked back. Suddenly the question of life and death of his whole race hung in the balance. He swallowed, another lifetime of grief and worry descending onto his shoulders, already over-burdened. His continued strength and determination was comfort and amazement to everyone who heard or read his words.  
  
Stott turned his eyes away from Auden. Only the president could make this call. _It makes no sense,_ Stott told himself, not daring to take the responsibility to voice his opinion. _"Gun ports open" as a greeting makes no sense. "We surrender" makes no sense._ For one moment -- just that one moment -- Stott felt empathy for Takech, Captain I-hope-when-you-died-you-went-to-Hell Takech as he stood on the deck of the _Prometheus_ looking at those ships same as Stott stood now looking at the Earth Defense tactical screens. Earth was at the center, a cloud of approximate locations of the Minbari armada, well within Luna's orbit, seemed to obscure the globe.  
  
_My choice_, Auden said silently, accepting his fate. Whatever the truth of it, he only had one choice, to dare to hope. If this was a trick he would be damned, even though continued battle would change nothing.  
  
He had been preparing himself -- the whole world, all of the human race -- to die. Now he had, by God's grace, a chance ... if he made the right decision. One more chance. _Or is this cruelty? The Minbari have been more than cruel._  
  
Auden spoke softly to his general. "Sound 'cease fire'. Tell the Minbari 'go away'." In dignity and hope, he would dare to believe. And in the days to come he would be hailed as a savior, two more terms forced upon him before he could convince the Alliance to let him retire.  
  
Stott inhaled deeply, then gave the Lt. Goodman the text. "My compliments to your leader. Disarm your weapons and leave the way you came. Our place of government and treaty is called Geneva, we will send you coordinates. Leave one unarmed diplomatic vessel, we will talk."  
  
-*-  
  
  
"You've left a good hole at the front for my tool kit," Turk reiterated. On the _Sam Adams_, preparations continued for humanity's last stand. There had been no messages or data received from Earth or Luna, but the ship's telescopes could see the flashes from battle engaged around Earth.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," Aronson answered.  
  
"I still have more tune-ups to do," she told John. "But once we're at battle stations I'll only have time for my belt tools. I wouldn't want my kit to go to waste."  
  
"Public Works will put it to good use," Aronson added. "When they have to create replacement parts from salvage they'll need all the calibration tools they can get." Turk's diagnostic tools and high-precision measurement devices would have almost universal usefulness in the expected trouble of keeping the Marian infrastructure running with no outside help.  
  
"This looks good, Daniel," John told him. His mind boggled at the interlocking needs of self-sufficiency in a hostile environment. It was second nature for Aronson, who had been born into it. "After this, you should continue to work on the next loads. We've got a lot here to salvage. I want to use as little fuel as possible getting it planetside."  
  
John and McKay were in a huddle with Aronson, going over the manifest of the shuttle they intended to send down to Mars when the _Sam Adams_ reached orbit. With John's OK, Aronson had sent a brief inquiry to Mars' Coordinator of Resources and had gotten a priority list back. Aronson now needed the list confirmed before he started loading the shuttle. Turk was there because he didn't want to lose everything plus the shuttle from overloading.  
  
"Cap'n!" Loch's voice sounded over the intercom. "I've got Earth back on line!"  
  
Everyone stood and ran to the bridge, John and McKay at the front. Cadiz was already over the Communications Officer's shoulder, reading the verification codes.  
  
"They're sounding 'cease fire'," Loch continued in disbelief.  
  
"Surrender?" John wondered quietly, looking at McKay. _Do we accept the order, or does EarthGov want us to resist? Which is the better choice for survival?_  
  
"They surrender," Loch continued. He didn't believe what he was hearing. "The Minbari have surrendered."  
  
"What?" Turk sputtered.  
  
Everyone was standing now. McKay turned off his emotions. "Stations!" he barked.  
  
"Is that message legit?" John asked Cadiz, as order was restored. The codes looked right, but Cadiz would be better at spotting a forgery.  
  
"It seems genuine."  
  
The room began to fill with murmuring. "It's over," the voices hoped. "We won?"  
  
"Quiet!" John snapped. "We need verification." Every instinct he possessed shrieked warning, insisting the seeming good news had to be a trap.  
  
"But, sir -- " Cammack began. McKay stared him down. The young officer returned his attention to his silent boards, hands trembling. If the war was over, then his family was safe. If there were any planetary attack, they were dead. Geneva would be a prime target, and they weren't of high enough rank to be in the deeper shelters.  
  
John pushed Aronson toward his post. "Get me a spectra on Earth," he told him. "Look for evidence of explosions in the atmosphere."  
  
It took long moments for the program to be set. Aronson punched in the commands woodenly, incomprehensible emotions washed over him, making it hard for him to concentrate. In the restive undercurrent to his consciousness he felt as if something had been stolen from him. "There's no indication of bombardment, sir," he reported.  
  
"Keep checking."  
  
Aronson kept up a steady report of readings, which were consistent with what was being sent from Earth: Normal, normal, normal.  
  
-*-  
  
  
"They surrendered," Eric Deasey said to Anna. He had left the shelter to find her outside.  
  
She had been standing guard through the night and into the morning, watching the sky with her binoculars. _Was that John?_ she had asked herself at each flash. _How many hours, how many days until I join him?_ After a time the nature of the flashes mixed, then changed fully: shrapnel entering the atmosphere at high speed burned with a yellow glow.  
  
She couldn't believe what he was saying. "John?" she asked.  
  
"I don't know," Eric had to answer. "It doesn't look good. A ... a lot of our ships went down." He had thought it was "all"; but there had to be some left if the enemy had surrendered.  
  
-*-  
  
  
In every government center on Earth, the administrators were shifting gears. The fight for survival was suddenly turning back to a reestablishment of central authority. David Sheridan was helping Jamie Opila inventory food reserves.  
  
"We've got a location on _Sam Adams!_" Rick Maggs called out into the near silence of the Denver Area Command Center.  
  
David looked up from the screen he was studying. He tried not to jump to an unwarranted conclusion, but the man's face seemed hopeful.  
  
The Minbari surrender had been announced, but David had stayed put in the underground complex, wanting news. "Where?"  
  
"_En route_ to Mars," Maggs clarified.  
  
That meant low fuel. "Damage?"  
  
"No distress indicators. The list says he's got rescued crew from _Geneva_ and others."  
  
-*-  
  
  
Inside the shelter nearest the Sheridan house, Carol huddled with the other soldiers' mothers, waiting for news of their sons and daughters. They had spent the war helping on the home front, keeping track of _all_ the kids.  
  
"Carol!" Josee Vest called, and she handed her the phone when she came near. Carol trembled when she heard David's voice on the receiver. The other mothers stood close ready to give comfort. Good news never traveled this fast.  
  
Carol hung up the phone and sank to the floor.  
  
"My boy's coming home," Carol whispered other mothers surrounding her. Vest had a daughter, Audrey. They didn't know yet how the _Bradley_ had faired. Shirley Neven's son Wayne had died on the _Orleans_. Mary Norpar had no word of her husband, Craig, nor her sister's kids, Midge and Neal. Neal, the younger of them, had gone out onto the Line with one of the new starfuries. They weren't hopeful. So many others, the faces blurred. Carol felt guilty for her joy, next to their grief and worry. "Thank the Lord. My boy's coming home."  
  
-*-  
  
  
It was done. The Minbari were leaving the system, death behind them. Many people, Anna saw, were walking around like zombies. She was one of them. The world had changed again. She was lost.  
  
Standing silent, she had listened to the radio announcements, later followed by a CDN report, showing system traffic maps of the Minbari ships leaving the system. Cautious at first, the voice of authority soon grew with confidence, speaking of the future.  
  
_What is my future? Am I "Mathieson" or (as the Civil Defense Census read) "Sheridan"? Has this war made me a widow before I was truly a bride?_ She clutched at her wedding ring, refusing to remove it, refusing to call it false ... she teetered on the edge of insanity.  
  
It was a miracle. People were trying to smile. It was a second chance. For too many the miracle had came too late. _What is my life if John is dead?_  
  
It was going to take days, the reporter cautioned, for the casualty lists to be made and families contacted. "Be careful of rumors," he had said.  
  
When the tears began, Anna turned away from the screen. She edged her way through the crowd, grabbed her coat -- John's Academy jacket -- and walked outside again into the silent snow. "Stop," she told herself. _What good were tears?_ "Stop."  
  
-*-  
  
  
"Anna."  
  
It was Lizzy's voice, unsteady. Anna huddled tighter, pulling her knees to her chin. Liz was kneeling before her, shaking her shoulders. Anna didn't want to hear. It could only be bad news. What right did she have for better? _Coward,_ she told herself.  
  
"He's alive," Liz repeated.  
  
What? Anna couldn't speak. She struggled to focus afraid she had gone mad. _Did I dare believe?_  
  
"Johnny's alive. He must be." Liz was crying. "Dad sent news. His ship's reporting to Mars."  
  
Anna unclenched her hands. Liz got her legs unbent and helped her to stand, all the while crying and babbling. "He was in the battle. Some ships were killed in the Asteroid Belt, some Minbari ships, even, but John's ship wasn't hurt."  
  
Anna tried to make herself believe. David wouldn't have sent the news unless he had proof.  
  
-*-  
  
  
John sat in the command chair. There was only a skeleton crew on the bridge. Elsewhere, there was cautious celebration. He turned to the sound of the door opening. Dr. Shair entered.  
  
"Peter Foste is dead," he reported.  
  
John's head lowered. "So soon?" he asked.  
  
"Onstadd asked me to pull him out of his coma. I agreed with her. He was fading quickly. It would have taken too long to contact his family, and he wouldn't have been able to connect with a transmitted voice. He thought Onstadd was his brother, and she went along with that, told him everyone was safe. At least he lived long enough to know Earth hadn't died."  
  
John nodded.  
  
The data feed from Luna was back on line. It was the same as when the Minbari ships had entered the system: shadowy blips on the tactical boards, the jump-points could be detected accurately. They departed not as a swarm this time, but by ones and twos, following a path on the ecliptic that avoided Io and Mars, the ships were slowly returning whence they came.  
  
Back in the battlefield surrounding Earth, the wreckage of fifteen thousand ships and starfuries was being cleared away. He didn't want to think about how many had died, how little of Earth Force had survived. The killing had stopped. Beneath the killing fields, Earth -- family -- was safe. It was a soldier's duty -- it didn't matter how many had died. What they had fought for had survived.  
  
_The War is over._  
  
  
**=== end chapter nine ===**


	10. December 27, 2247 Claiming the Prize

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 10 Date: December 27, 2247 (five days after the Battle of the Line) **  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"I can't tell you how lucky I feel some times, even when he's not here. ... Someone said that 'love has no borders' and ours certainly proves the point."_

Anna Sheridan, _Revelations_

  
-*-  
  
  
_Privilege had its rewards,_ John decided. At this point he was still working under the assumption that "Dad pulled strings", but he also had to put credence to the fact that, this time, he had done his own part. _The flagship._ His mind boggled. _My ambush killed their damn flagship._ Just being alive, being able to think of a personal future; that was heady enough. The rest hadn't sunk in yet.  
  
He still reacted to every unexpected sound as if it were a battle alarm. He couldn't remember his last "deep" sleep that wasn't exhaustion.  
  
"The shuttle will dock in ten minutes," Loch announced.  
  
"I'll be in the docking bay," John replied.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
"'_Samuel Adams_,'" Anna read the name aloud. "His ship." She smiled, reaching to squeeze David's hand. She wanted to see the look on his face -- she was sure hers must be comical -- but she couldn't look away. Without a comparison for scale, the ship looked larger than it was. To do what John did, he couldn't have a small ship, could he?  
  
_Five days._ Her mind could barely contain it. Only five days ago she was counting the hours, ready to die. She had watched John die, so she thought, when she saw the reports of the battle in the Asteroid Belt. Now they would be together again, soon to be married "for real". Thinking back on everything this she had done to protect the marriage fiction, it seemed treason to think in such terms.  
  
It had been a strange path from the shelter to this shuttle. David had called Carol to say John had survived, but that message had been followed by silence. Late the next day, Anna was called away and she was already in low-Earth orbit before David rejoined her. The promise of reunion was both a hope and a fear. It was no longer a curse to say or think the words "He's alive", hopes were no longer fatal dangers; it was hard to relearn habit.  
  
In the midst of the semi-organized chaos of the government and military changing gears and changing objectives David had managed to pull strings again. The _Sam Adams_, among other surviving Earth Force ships, had be ordered to Earth, but David was not content to wait. He found that John had done something that had made the top brass take notice. When he discovered the reason, David had determined that he and Anna would meet John's ship _en route._  
  
"John did 'something '?"  
  
David beamed. Anna, of course, didn't know what to expect, but David's explanation had left her mouth agape. They had heard rumors as the Minbari fleet approached Earth that they had suffered some damage during the engagement at the Asteroid Belt.  
  
"It wasn't damage. Four of their warships were destroyed, and it was Johnny that did it."  
  
"That can't be right. One Earth ship doesn't have that much fire power. John isn't a general. He was following orders, not giving them. There must have been a half dozen or more officers that outranking him on the field, and more back on Earth. How -- "  
  
"Believe it." David's expression was dead earnest. "Old Soldiers are particular about these things. The plan had been John's, accepted by the local CO. If he's credited him with the kill, he _was_ responsible."  
  
That was the reason for all this secrecy and hurry. John had made himself a War Hero, and the politicians and the media would have use for that. With so much hardship behind, and so much hardship to come in the reconstruction, it would be good to have something positive to think about. John, though he didn't know it yet, had just been volunteered.  
  
David had had a hard time convincing his wife that everything was all right, with all the secrecy and his leaving so abruptly. He had finally made the comm call from the abbreviated "bridge" of the _Palau_. It was a crowded little freighter out of Luna that was heading to Mars with a bulging packet of orders and as well as replacement personnel. Anna could only hear David's words. She left when the conversation turned romantic -- she missed John terribly. After two years of waiting -- suddenly free of fear -- her patience had run out. With difficulty, Anna had kept an appearance of outward calm. David knew better.  
  
Not a moment too soon, the _Palau_ met the _Sam Adams_ a day out from Mars. The ships matched trajectories (though in opposite directions) to allow a faster shuttle to speed back and forth, and a hot-rodding pilot ferried David and Anna across.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
The status screen announced, "Passengers off-loaded," then the docking siren sounded again, and the transport shuttle departed.  
  
John had mixed emotions when he saw a "formal" reception committee would greet Anna and Dad. No brass band and no dress uniforms, but as much of a receiving "line" as could be managed in zero gravity: officers floating by the door, and he could see other curious crew and passengers on the edges.  
  
He didn't have the same crew as he had had with him during the battle. In the hectic too-few hours the _Sam Adams_ had been in orbit around Mars, the ship had been refueled and many personnel had transferred on and off.  
  
Dr. Shair and his patients had moved to a hospital station. There had been a shuffle of pilots, as Dale got a few of his missing squad back. He sent word to the rest, still at Io, to try to attempt to find rides to Earth. In addition, the ship gained several passengers: Heavy casualties meant mass reassignments of those EarthForce officers still alive.  
  
For several of the crew (and nearly all the draftees), Mars was their home and they took new assignments planetside. One of people he had lost was Cadiz, and that had surprised him. John had thought that Cadiz would want to take advantage of the part he played, and John had been ready to make a glowing recommendation, but Cadiz had left -- hardly speaking a word, as if he were running away. There was a mystery there, but something at the back of John's mind warned him that it was better to let be.  
  
Kapura had taken a transfer as well, but that was easy to understand: she missed her children. Cadiz, in their last real conversation, had promised John he would use his contacts to get her an assignment close to home. Aronson had wanted off with the rest of the draftees, but John convinced him to stay. He had gotten word that Anna and Dad were coming, and he wanted them to meet as much of his bridge team as possible.  
  
So the shufflings were accomplished, and John had most of his crew still with him, at least to Earth. Reassignments were coming, but -- he smiled -- there would also be some private time.  
  
In a few moments he'd be with Anna. So many times these last months he'd thought he'd never see her again.  
  
He should have told McKay he wanted this "private", but there he was -- and Turk next to him -- and it was too late to change things. And he wasn't sure he wanted to. They were a good crew and he was proud of them. Of course, they wanted to meet Anna, even if he hadn't been as free answering questions about his personal life on the _Sam Adams_ as he had been on the _Valiant_ and before.  
  
In the past months the crew had heard stories, augmented by old scuttlebutt, and the marriage fiction was almost common knowledge, but John had avoided the topic. It wasn't just that impending doom made the "game" feel pointless. Being in command made it an inappropriate act of desperation.  
  
It all seemed just a little bit unreal.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
_This is it,_ Anna thought, and cycled the door open. David had hold of both suitcases; all she could see was John. She wanted to launch herself at him, but that wasn't a good idea in zero gravity. She pushed off slowly, but once hands touched, he let go of his handhold. He needed both hands and arms to hold her.  
  
Everything went away for a while.  
  
It was a kiss, a magical kiss. _Husband_, she thought, with the strength of all her belief. It had been a spell, almost an incantation. She had declared him as husband, and had -- it seemed -- forced the universe to make her vow "truth."  
  
_What else did I have to keep my hopes alive, but simple hope and hopeful love?_ She had been no different from any other person who had watched the sky and waited in fear. Most had waited in vain.  
  
For whatever reason, John had survived and had returned to her. She wanted to weep for joy.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
"Now ain't that a sight?" McKay laughed.  
  
It was impossible to kiss chastely in Zero G. Up or down -- "vertical" or "flat" -- didn't have much meaning. When arms engaged in an embrace, that meant legs got tangled as well. Angular momentum had them in a slow spin.  
  
"'Get a room,'" someone called.  
  
John and Anna abruptly became aware of the others in the bay. Anna's face turned pink, but John forced his blush down; it Would Not Do for a CO to admit to a loss of dignity in front of his crew. (He'd been in command for less than six months, and he was still very sensitive to such things.) He did what he must to keep in control, though he was inwardly kicking himself.  
  
John grabbed McKay's out-stretched hand and pulled himself and Anna to the hand rail. "Hello," he said evenly.  
  
That was answered by catcalls and whistles.  
  
"I'll have all of you know," John thundered, "this is my _wife_." Anna hid her face in his chest. "So what are you staring at?"  
  
Turk's laugh was unmistakable.  
  
"Don't give me that, Janet." John answered. "You were there."  
  
"Sure I was."  
  
He shook his head at McKay. "Bob, could you get these yahoos back in order? We'll do the introductions later."  
  
There was a quick hug for Dad as well, and then they took the handholds toward the turbo. "The crew's kind of keyed up," John apologized as they approached the door. "He's a good ship."  
  
"_SHE!_" Turk bellowed, continuing the perpetual argument.  
  
John opened his mouth just as the turbo door did the same. As usual, Turk's timing was impeccable.  
  
She -- also as usual -- claimed the last word. "You take care of your lady; I'll take care of mine!"  
  
The turbo's motion took them into the rotation, giving them a floor to stand on. They returned to their embrace. John kept his breath steady, though hers was getting ragged. _It will be. It _will_ be._  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
With the click of the door locking, coherent thought was gone. Anna somehow was holding onto her suitcase: she dropped it against the wall. They were in John's quarters, in the rotating section. Gravity was normal. She didn't know where Dad was. It didn't matter.  
  
She reached behind her neck to unclasp the chain she was wearing. She pulled off John's ring as the rest dropped to the floor.  
  
Pushing the ring on his finger, she didn't give him a chance to speak before kissing him again. Mouths clamped together, she pulled at his uniform.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
There had been words, not many: love, need. The inarticulate vocabulary of passion and desire.  
  
In happier times they would slowly drift into sleeping after John retrieved the sheet to cover them, but the pain and fear were still too close. He clung to her and shuddered. "Oh, God, Anna."  
  
"I love you," she answered.  
  
"I love you, too," he replied happily, but the laugh was cut short. Robert and Edith were dead; they had died not knowing EarthForce had fulfilled his promise to keep Earth safe. They had died certain of the opposite; they had died unreconciled to their daughter's choice. For a few frantic days John had been hoping desperately, watching for reports for Orion, praying for help to reach there in time. Help was in time ... but not for Anna's parents. She told him in her first message, David told it in more detail. The letters had been cold patterns of light and dark on a flat screen. It was better that way. "I'm sorry -- " he began.  
  
She stopped him, knowing what he would say.  
  
So he only held her a long time, feeling her tension relax. Tenderly he stroked her face. "Thank you."  
  
A shudder had touched his voice. "John?"  
  
"You kept me living." He kissed her hand that reached to his cheek. "I couldn't tell you until now." His eyes filled with tears. "That first battle, I was stranded, my reserves were hit. When I was rescued I had less than an hour's worth of oxygen left. If I had panicked I would have died. But you were with me, and I wasn't afraid." He smiled, eyes clearing. "Only sorry you wouldn't know."  
  
She also was trembling. "John -- "  
  
"Shhh," he closed her mouth with his thumb. "It's over. We're safe. Earth is safe."  
  
They were silent a long time, letting themselves think about the future, after it had been so dark for so long. The fear had been overpowering.  
  
"We watched the battle above us," Anna whispered, staring outward. "The Battle of the Line. We knew it was the end." Her voice was soft. "Some people went crazy, hiding. There was a man handing out poison pills. I didn't take one. When the battle came close, he didn't want to see it. I think the announcement came soon enough to prevent the suicides. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I wasn't going to throw my life away. I think you kept me living, too. So many people -- they were no more than ghosts. I could not have faced that alone."  
  
She thought back on the speech Auden had made, announcing the surrender. "I think the President has it right. God changed his mind. I don't know why. I'm not going to question."  
  
He held her close.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
"Go away!" John yelled at the buzzer. "I quit. I'm on vacation." Anna laughed happily.  
  
The buzzer sounded again, and then David's voice followed it. "Johnny, let me in."  
  
"I'm naked, Dad. I'm not getting dressed."  
  
Anna added in a stage whisper, "Ever?"  
  
Under normal circumstances they wouldn't have said such things. Under normal circumstances such a response would have given them privacy.  
  
Their respite was brief: the situation wasn't quite back to "normal."  
  
"Are you covered?" David's voice asked.  
  
_He's not going to go away,_ John thought to himself. _I wish I had turned that intercom off._ "Yes, yes. Open."  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
David stepped around the clothing scattered on the floor to stand next to the narrow bed. At the back of his mind was the thought that this should be uncomfortable. Dimly he realized he would be embarrassed when it came time to tell stories. But right now it was a sign for happiness: they had survived. Propriety would matter again later. John lay on his back and Anna was snuggled under his arm, head on his chest. The sheet lay across them, pinned by John's arms. The perch looked precarious. "How's the honeymoon doing?"  
  
Anna giggled, legs moving under the sheet, more towards center. John felt too happy to be embarrassed. "Pretty close to heaven," he said, smiling at his (soon to be) wife.  
  
"Very good," David grinned. He started to say more but the words caught in his throat.  
  
John's eyes darkened. "I know, Dad. I was scared, too." He pulled Anna close. "I am so happy to be alive." She continued the motion to claim his mouth with a kiss. His hands caressed her back through the sheet.  
  
"Ahem," David said, trying to get their attention.  
  
" 'Told you, I'm on vacation."  
  
"Sorry, no. With the honeymoon accomplished, we need to go back a bit further in time for a wedding. Then we can finally start moving forwards to the future."  
  
David was right; there was much to be done. But John was in no mood and kept getting distracted. When Anna broke away to consider something David asked, John turned her head back. "_I_ have a question."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
His face became grim with concentration. "How many newlyweds -- "  
  
Anna groaned, burying her face onto his chest. _Light bulb jokes._  
  
" -- does it take to screw in a light bulb?"  
  
She tried to push away but he was too strong. "It depends on how much room there is in the light bulb."  
  
He shook his head, grinning. "Why screw in a light bulb when a bed -- " he arched his back " -- is so much more comfortable?"  
  
"John!"  
  
He ignored her protest. "What's the difference -- "  
  
"John, stop it."  
  
" -- between a girlfriend, a hooker and a wife?"  
  
She turned to David in desperation. "Dad, make him stop!"  
  
David had his eyes covered, afraid the sheet would go AWOL any moment. John's penchant for bad jokes was almost legendary. "'T'ain't possible."  
  
"A girlfriend -- "  
  
Anna yanked the pillow out from under John's head and tried to smother him with it. John pulled it out of her grasp and sent it across the room, narrowly missing David. Anna started digging her knee between John's legs and, stifling an "ouch," he skipped to the end of the joke: a wife would be considering what color to paint the ceiling. "'Do you like beige?'"  
  
"John Joseph Sheridan, you are a cruel monster!"  
  
He only smiled.  
  
"Children," David interrupted. "You've had enough time to play. Could we have some order, please?"  
  
John relaxed and then Anna followed suit. "Yes, Dad."  
  
"I'm going to leave now. Put your clothes back on; I'll meet you in your office."  
  
"Yes, Dad."  
  
As the door clicked behind him, Anna started to climb off the bed. John pulled her back. "Knock, knock," he said in a low voice.  
  
Anna's eyes rolled.  
  
He held her arms tightly. "Knock, knock," he repeated. The voice was louder this time.  
  
She gave up, smiling her surrender. "Who's there?" The voice was sensual.  
  
"Just you," his face softened, eyes full of passion again. "Just me. Shall we take advantage?"  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
When John and Anna emerged, he was grateful to discover that the only marriage detail left to be worked out was the EarthForce invitation list, a task which David and McKay seemed to have well in hand. David had been assured by Mr. Elytis "the more the merrier", and if the restaurant burst from the crowd, it was no less than the soldiers were due. McKay, therefore, was getting the word out to anyone who might want to come.  
  
This shift in thinking caused conflicting emotions. Life continued, for the lucky. Yet the War would refuse to be left behind. There would always be traps and sudden darkness.  
  
Looking at the list was an up and down thing. "Mary Earline might have fun," John said hesitantly at one point. "Did she make it?" His brow wrinkling, trying to think. "Was she on _Stockholm_, or had she transferred?" McKay keyed her name into the computer while John explained to Anna and Dad. "Last year she spent the five days she was on _Valiant_ putting in the new grid trying to punch a hole in the story during the time we were trying not to be overcome by bad news." Back then marriage "memories" were still being invented. For some, the fun in the game was to try to disprove the fiction. "Mary's the reason I had to invent the hyperspace dragon ..."  
  
Earline wasn't the only unknown that had to be looked up on the casualty lists. For some people there wasn't an answer yet. And there were other details to be reported.  
  
"Your estimated wedding day is December 30th," David said. "As soon as we can get you back on ground. "Mom is already talking with Judge Tait. If we delay at all, the politicians and media will horn in and take over -- Ugly. You're a War Hero, Johnny, and everyone is going to want to grab a piece of you. I don't want strangers intruding. This is private, and we're going to keep it secret."  
  
"But my friends -- "  
  
"Censorship is on our side here," McKay inserted. "I can send out an 'all forces' bulletin under 'Top Secret' and no reporter will get word. Or if they do -- it would be field staff afraid to get blackballed. I don't want anyone left out, any more than you two do." All of EarthForce, it seemed, had been kibitzing on the details of this celebration for the past two years. It was easy to hand over the details to others. The wedding and party had always been a group effort, and all the sweeter for that.  
  
"You should have heard Lizzy," Dad said in the midst of it all. "According to Mom she saved the day when a reporter came to the door. He knew you two were 'engaged,' and wondered about the wedding date. Mom didn't know what to say but Lizzy -- her deadpan frazzled look -- says 'It takes a long time to plan a wedding. Can we just get them home first?'"  
  
John laughed, counting up the months. Yes, some of the debates had gone on forever.  
  
David's story wasn't finished. "When pressed, Lizzy said the date was 'fluctuating.' I would've just lied, but it's going to be even funnier at the party and when this comes out. So how about that, Johnny?" he grinned wildly. "Your very own conspiracy. Do you think we can keep the reporters away until after the vows are taken and the cake is cut?"  
  
"I think we have a chance," Anna put in. "It's hard to get anything past Liz. There's going to be some rather significant professional vultures that are going to look foolish."  
  
"Huh. I'd rather be sure of who's going to make a fool of who." Then he laughed. "I would love to pull one over Foran." Stan Foran was the obnoxious president of ISN. "If we do a good enough job, maybe he'll leave us alone."  
  
  
**=== end chapter ten ===**


	11. December 28, 2247 Roots of Rebellion

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 11 Date: December 28, 2247 (seven days after the Battle of the Line) **  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"Any time you lose a war, you just wait a few years and you'll hear from everyone who thought that we could have won if they'd have done the fighting." _

John Sheridan, _And Now for a Word_

  
-*-  
  
  
"Is that a sign of having 'arrived'?" Anna wondered, trying to hide her concern. "To have your meals interrupted by 'urgent' comm calls?" She had been hoping this would be a good day. _This is going to be bad._ At first she had thought it was good news, or someone just saying "thank you," but the storm on John's face banished that thought quickly. After the initial joy and relief of reunion all the bottled up fears were re-emerging.  
  
It was supposed to be a private meal. They had gotten into the habit of that. John would clear off his desk, and the four of them -- John, Dad, McKay and her -- would bring their trays here from the mess, and talked while they ate. The conversations were more serious, but there was also a lot of laughter, not always strained.  
  
Ever since John had returned to Sol system he'd been under a microscope: suddenly the CO who everyone looked to; he hadn't been allowed to show a speck of doubt or make a single error. There had been some small relief when he had attended the planning meeting, or spoke to the other CO's, discussing the ambush and other preparations, but the responsibility of having to prepare a ship full of young, scared and inexperienced soldiers for almost certain death and failure had wound him up almost to the point of snapping.  
  
McKay had kept him on line; there were occasional times when they were alone that John could let off some of the tension without causing damage, and Turk -- narrowly focused on the machinery -- had always been good for a distraction.  
  
The hope had been that having Dad and Anna here -- people who could listen who weren't depending on him -- would made it possible to start to work through what he had been holding in, so the healing could begin. Having Anna in his bed, as often as they could manage, was helping him to come back alive. But something unexpected had broke in to tear apart all progress; he seemed to have regressed further back than square one. Stiffly, John sat back in his seat. His face was tight and his eyes burned in fury.  
  
"John?" Anna asked.  
  
"It was nothing," he answered. "Nothing important."  
  
The other three traded glances at the response. This wasn't a good sign.  
  
John tried to return to the interrupted topic. His thoughts soon went elsewhere, leaving an awkward silence. McKay finally rippled fingers in front of his eyes, deciding to call the question.  
  
John pulled his head back, startled. "Hey!"  
  
"That's hardly 'nothing'," McKay said pointedly.  
  
"Nothing," John slammed his hands down, "that any officer would tolerate to think or to hear another speak it. That selfish. Opportunistic -- "  
  
He was too angry to put two words together. Too angry with himself that he would waste his breath on repeating such obscenity to anyone else. The sudden scraping sound of his chair pushed back was an admission of defeat. "Sorry." His eyes were down. "I have to be alone now." That was something Anna and David had heard from both John and McKay, and there had been times they made the request as well.  
  
Nevertheless, Anna started to follow him. David pulled her back into her seat when he saw McKay's expression. "What was that about?"  
  
McKay shook his head and laughed without humor. David waited him out. "It's the War. It will always be 'the War'." MaKay had been knocked into the same state, and was no longer able to help. He wanted solitude also. He walked out the door and turned the opposite direction. Sometimes "alone" was the only thing that helped. Sometimes the demons took charge and all anyone could do was let go and let emotions rage themselves back to silence. It always had to be "alone" because there was already so much hurt, no one wanted to hurt anyone further.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
After several minutes of awkward silence, David excused himself to go looking. Anna allowed that it would be better for him to chance it. After a few wrong guesses, he climbed up to the zero gravity core and kicked aftwards out of the rotating section. No major course corrections were expected until they approached Earth orbit. He found John in the prep area of the fighter bays. Rather than float in the center of the room where the air currents would push him around, he had he had toe holds to keep himself steady, "standing" with his back to one of the storage cabinets. David slipped in next to him.  
  
_Maybe it was nostalgia for being a pilot that had brought him here,_ David thought. That had been John's pre-War ambition. Back then, "pilot" was goal enough: captaining his own ship would have been something years in the future that he wouldn't want to jinx by speaking of it. Battle had a tendency of quickening your career, if it didn't end it permanently. _It had been a happier time not that many years ago._  
  
David waited, letting John get used to having company. He let John end the silence.  
  
"You want to know why."  
  
"If you want to tell me."  
  
Neither of them was looking at the other. "You came looking." John's voice had a slight edge to it. Every other time his requests for solitude had been honored.  
  
"You worried me. You left in a hurry."  
  
"I -- I'm sorry. I need to be alone for a while."  
  
"I'm still worried. Something's got you riled." David could hear his breathing, could hear him trying get it under control.  
  
John's jaw tightened. "Go away."  
  
"Son, what is it?"  
  
He shook his head, hands on the bar keeping the rest of his body still. His voice was a tight whisper. "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"I think this is one of the times you need to talk."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Yes you can."  
  
His answer was a sarcastic grunt. The look he gave him said he didn't want to talk, that somehow it was _wrong_ to talk. David had to find the flaw in the logic. "You want to voice this, but you believe that whatever it is that's bothering you is something you _shouldn't_ say, that you should ignore it and make it go away. But it can't go away if you won't admit how it makes you feel. You have to look at it -- "  
  
It was a struggle. David continued though John kept withdrawing further, brushing aside his advances. He was angry, he was ashamed of his emotion to the point of being wounded -- _It must be something specific, his emotion was a betrayal of something important. Something that he owed survival, or something more important._ David wasn't sure who or what John was angry at. John may not have been sure himself. There was fear, disbelief, and crippling frustration. The words were trying to come out -- early on, the rebellion evaporated and John admitted "you're right, Dad" -- but he couldn't make one word follow the other and make sense.  
  
John had to make the choice to continue, to "live" or merely "exist". The infinite didn't care. In some ways it might be easier to give in to the fear, accept a medical discharge and find a safe life, but there were debts to be paid and honor due the fallen. He didn't have a right to squander what he had been given.  
  
John felt that duty even stronger than David. Once more, he attempted, speaking obliquely. "I couldn't have done it."  
  
David tilted his head.  
  
"Board one of those ships." Those monstrous ships. John breathed in deeply, with relief. That was a fear he could admit to. "How would we know it wasn't another trap? If we had been there -- " There had been 20,000 at the battle of the line. All the ships had been destroyed.  
  
The words stopped again. He couldn't even think it. If the _Sam Adams_ had been stationed at Earth instead of at Io his ship and crew would have been in that number. When the "cease fire" hadn't been sounded only a handful of starfuries were whole.  
  
"John," David said softly. More than anything else he wanted to touch him, give him the comfort of a protective embrace. He was afraid that would start him to screaming ... and that he'd never stop. The silence thickened into sickness. Something was about to break.  
  
"John, tell me. What you've been through, I can't begin to imagine -- "  
  
"It hurts."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Why?" There were no words. "I don't know why."  
  
John's eyes searched the bay, remembering. Every day, from the first rumors of war to the rude realization that the battle's truths were doomed to be perverted. All his hopes were being pulled into blackness.  
  
Once you were on the front line, the odds were -- days, hours, you'd be dead. The _Eagle_, the _Courir_, the _Valiant_ and the _Sam Adams_: four times he had been on at the front, five times in battle. Somehow he had beaten the odds.  
  
He remembered, at the conference at Io, eyes meeting and the brief, joyful surprise of seeing a face that brought back happy memories, confidence and ambition, before the killing had begun. He hadn't spoken the words, but had even the thought been bad luck? "You're still alive!" No longer.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
It was a long silence, and then John nodded once in a small, precise movement. His eyes seemed to focus on something that wasn't there. One arm extended to present this "nothing there" to David.  
  
"Dad, I would like you to meet Lt. Cmdr. Dennis Ireland, _Jawaharlal Nehru_. Denny, this is my father, David."  
  
_He's being haunted by ghosts,_ David realized. It was quite a reasonable response to what he's been through. He blinked back the mist in his eyes and gave as much of a solemn bow as his floating posture allowed. He wished this were happening onplanet in a church that he might give the gesture more dignity.  
  
John's gaze traveled the room, looking everywhere but his father's face. "That's the problem, Dad. What do I say to him? What was this all for? He was all set to 'kick ass' and flatten those bastards and do what he could to keep some of us alive. And he died happy, I think, glad to make the sacrifice, to make some difference. Mars was going to be my new home. Could we have won the struggle to survive? Failure was not an option. I'd be ground-bound, looking at a too-dim sun in a strange colored sky. There would be no 'man in the moon'. The blue dot of dead Earth only briefly visible before dawn or after sunset. Denny's ghost would have been a comfort to me on Mars. If I had survived Mars. That's where he would expect to find me." His eyes closed. "If Earth -- " he faltered. It was no easier to say the words now than before the surrender. He tried again. "If Earth and you -- " He could neither say nor think the words: If Earth had died. _Denny had died believing Earth had died with him._  
  
"I would have kept living. I would have done it for Denny, you, everyone who died. Because I owed it. He -- " John waved unsteadily. The unseen figure drifted forward (judging from the direction of John's gaze) and found a seat near the closest airlock. David kept silent. Any talk would be welcome, and this seemed to be helping. Survivor guilt was never easy.  
  
John covered his eyes, and found more words. "Then there's Sharon." She had died grim, he was sure, hell-bent for revenge. "Sharon's ship was the _Celebes_. I'm sorry I can't make the introduction, but her ghost is off looking for Dukhat, asking what kind of people did he lead that would -- " Again, words failed. _What manner of people could have the desire for Genocide; the will to pursue it?_ "... Maybe she'll get an answer," he ended lamely.  
  
His eyes searched a while, memory looking for the next ghost. He picked a spot above his head, and pointed. "Drifting up in limbo, there, it's hard to see her. Not quite in focus -- That's Rea Stiles. She was third in command on _Courir_. Her eyes were always haunted." Her life had been hard, and she had made compromises that she regretted, she had been known to admit. "Piet was a tech, his station on the bridge. If they had gotten together, it would have been frowned on. Me and the squad -- we never could make up our minds if we were seeing things, or if they had managed time alone. They died. No one knows."  
  
The next ghost was introduced with a strong voice. "I think Captain George Mowrey was more determined than angry. I'd like to think he's taken a sentry post at Saturn's orbit. He won't let anyone come in, unseen. We only spoke a few times. He volunteered to be at the front of the line and _Victory_ was the first ship that engaged. He doubted my trap would do any good, but he didn't mind me trying. At the end -- I think he was hoping that it would work, that he was trying to help. But I don't know that; maybe I'm reading something into his course adjustments that wasn't there. His ship was totally destroyed, no survivors. We don't know what anyone was thinking.  
  
"I know what Art Chalky was thinking. There he is, sitting on the upper wing of Dale's 'fury." Kostal had brought it into the shop for another unnecessary tune-up. "Art was CO of _Marat_. He was praying, 'Dear Lord, don't let me screw the pooch.' He helped me make my trap. He was ecstatic that I had found him something to do -- He didn't want to just stand by, he had to do _some_thing, same as me. But he didn't want to be the one to blame if it didn't work. His ship was too close to the explosion. There were a few survivors, but they all died within days from the radiation of the bombs we laid.  
  
"The next station down, sitting inside there is Rahim Mang, you remember Rah. He was in my squad on the _Eagle_." He also had bunked on the same floor as John at the Academy, and John had sent Mang to the homestead to hide one weekend -- until things cooled down -- when one of Mang's practical jokes had backfired. He had charmed Carol, who didn't want to know the details. David got the full story, and -- when he stopped laughing -- had given good advice on how to placate the Colonel's ruffled feathers. "We'd been pleased to be assigned to the same ship. Then the attack happened. Rah didn't even get a shot off before they killed him.  
  
"Then there's Patrick Small, who you wouldn't know." John's angry voice turned guilty. "He's there with the tools, of course. He was a mechanic on the _Eagle_. He was overhauling my fighter and I was handing him the tools so he could work faster, and we talked. His leave had been canceled -- the war -- and he was upset. He hadn't seen his wife and kids in over two years, and he died in his first battle. I didn't know it was him -- didn't recognize the name -- until I saw the picture in the obit. I wrote a letter to his wife, but it was mostly to his kids." His eyes got blurry. "It's not fair."  
  
David risked speaking. "At least he knew his heart," he pointed out. "At least he was able to do some part of what he needed to do, to say some part of what he needed to say. You and Anna might have had none. You are stubborn people. The universe was kind, to give you a second chance. In my mind it would be bordering on ingratitude to tell God he was wrong, that his hand should have touched you and let another live."  
  
"God... How could God -- "  
  
John shuddered. God was a topic even worse than survivor guilt waiting to spin him into madness. He backed away, fighting through another black wall of fear. "What does 'surrender' mean anyway?" he whispered. "What proof could there be? Even if I knew how to run those ships, knew how to secure their bridge and confine the crew, I couldn't have controlled myself."  
  
David nodded, putting it together. "That's what this is about, isn't it? Someone is making assumptions and wants to know why we 'gave away' something we didn't possess?"  
  
The dam broke. "Damn him, anyway." John took a deep breath and named the unnameable. "Damn you, Senator Durgin."  
  
"What did the 'Honorable' Durgin expect you to give him?"  
  
"Stott only did what President Auden told him to do, and it was the right response, the only response." There was awe in his voice, when he said Auden's name: he would have followed, or attempted, any order Auden gave him. He was more grateful than he could put into words that Auden understood well enough what his forces could and couldn't do. Earth Force was already past it's limit. "Durgin knows he can't touch Auden, so he's targeting Stott, and he's saying -- maybe he believes it -- that 'just leave' was Stott's idea. Durgin is ignoring the plain fact that Minbari armada was two, three hundred warships." His head spun, none of this made any sense. "I don't think EA has three hundred _freighters_ left intact in twelve starsystems. Taking 'prisoners' wasn't an option, 'surrender' or not. Durgin needs a scapegoat. They're going to bury the general alive."  
  
"He wanted your backing."  
  
"He got a lecture instead." He smiled at the memory; glad he'd been able to keep his voice level as he'd refused the senator's suggestion, and that he had kept the line open to hear every last deserving insult. "Then I ended the transmission before he could make his rebuttal. Self-important fool."  
  
"He has that reputation," David answered dryly.  
  
"It's deserved." Senator Durgin thinks that 'victory' means that we should have everything we want now. He wants reparations. He wants to make _them_ pay." He shook his head, unbelieving. "He doesn't know what he's asking." _Take the technology?_ How? "He's whining about war booty, and all I can think -- " He'd never seen a minbari body, only dead humans, fellow officers. "I don't know if I could take a minbari prisoner. I don't know if I could hold back my crew from their emotions. One move, and Morry would have shot them all, saying they were trying to attack. Then it would be war again."  
  
"What will Stott do?"  
  
"Do?" John was surprised at the question. "He followed orders. The _right_ orders."  
  
"It's not that simple." David sighed at John's perplexity. "These are dangerous times. It's been frightening to watch the news reports as we came here. The casualty reports -- civilians, especially -- seem willfully low. The politicians are scared. They don't want to admit to anyone -- much less themselves -- how close we came to oblivion. They'd rather take a good man down."  
  
"Or risk another war," John said bitterly. "I'm just glad they're gone. I don't want them dead ... 'gone' is faster. I know I asked 'Why?' but, hell, I don't want to know. I hurt. I don't have the strength to try to understand. I hope they go away forever and leave us alone."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"I know." The words of the senator came back to him: "our blood-earned right -- " _What right did SenaFool Durgan have to declare he had a personal involvement?_ "Politicians," John grumbled. "Denny and Sharon and their crews didn't die at the Line so politicians could squabble over rewriting history, and try to take credit for someone else's sacrifice."  
  
John's hands fisted in anger. "They did everything they could do, they did everything right. Don Chapple could well have joined them. Or they, him. _Moyale_ lost fuel in a rupture during the chase and Chapple got to the Line 'too late'. The battle was over. He and his crew are alive. No reason for it really: just alive." His voice cracked. He, also, was alive. No real reason for it...  
  
John looked outward. He couldn't see the stars. The prep area was an interior room, the open bays were one level further out, past the "suited personnel only" airlocks. They didn't need to see those distant suns to feel the presence of the infinite.  
  
"Thank you," David said.  
  
John waited a moment for the rest. "Dad?"  
  
"That's for your friends," he smiled sadly. "And any other ghosts that visit." His voice became fractionally louder, and he gazed at the places John had pointed earlier, speaking to those ghosts. "Thank you for protecting my world, my life. I want to thank you, too."  
  
"They can't hear you."  
  
David pulled him back. "Yes they can," he said sternly. He got himself still again. "Even if God is Dead and Heaven doesn't exist, our soldiers have heard it in the most important place, in our hearts. It doesn't matter what they specifically did or didn't do. It doesn't matter that they might have lived and the result not changed. Your friends did not die thinking they would be called a fools, or their deaths pointless."  
  
"But -- "  
  
"No. Their deaths, their sacrifices were true. If we can't see it, then it is on _us_ to see it right."  
  
"The politicians -- "  
  
"Lies," David said. "It's a war, everybody lies. What else is there for it?"  
  
This was an eerie echo of high-school arguments. Back then John had raised his voice to disagree. "You're wrong," he had insisted. His father was using the same tone now, and John was silenced. He'd spent two years in that grey. He had righteously declared years before that the universe didn't _have_ to be complicated. That truth wasn't something "negotiated". The war had left him alive. He couldn't make sense of life any more. Dad had been right. He saw that now.  
  
"We have to put a reason on it or no one could ever heal," David said.  
  
"You're telling me to accept?"  
  
"No. Just do what you can. The only way you deal with pain is you turn it into something positive. You don't surrender, you don't fight it ... " there was a lot more. David didn't bother to repeat the whole standard pep talk. He judged his son had heard enough. His eyes had gone distant again, unfocused. After a few minutes David slipped out of his space and left John alone with his thoughts.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
"Hey, there, handsome." It was Anna, looking for a hug and no talk. David had told her some of it. John held her to him, and tried to forget the madness.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
Every morning at nine am, CDN broadcast the Presidential Report. During the War these reports had been pep talks, President Auden reminding everyone what part they had to play. Often there would be a theme such as fighting back panic or basic first aid. Sometimes, it was Luis Santiago, the Vice President, who spoke, or another member of the cabinet.  
  
Today, as announced, it was Wallace Etscheid, Secretary of Resources. He was detailing the rescue operations for Io and the outer colonies and outposts. With the retreat of Minbari forces, the other races had come forward to offer help.  
  
Etscheid dodged around it, that all these "fast friends" now coming to the rescue had been absent until the surrender, not wanting to expand hostilities, not wanting to become targets themselves.  
  
"The War is not yet over," he grimly pronounced. "Our colonies in Proxima and Canton are in desperate need. Food and supply rationing will be continuing until Spring at least, and we're counting on everyone to keep buying War Bonds..."  
  
In a resolute voice, Etscheid listed the actions to be taken. Later in the day, President Auden would address the Senate, and that would be televised. He would be talking about the future, John supposed, and hardship -- but not in such minute terms.  
  
The crew watched quietly.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
Aronson urgently pulled John away from Anna and into an empty room. "I should have stayed home," he said. "Did you hear?"  
  
Normally, John would have been angered at the rough handling, but he could see how hard the Mars-born draftee was struggling to keep his own fury contained.  
  
"They're killing us," he said. "They're going to take everything." Etscheid had spoke of the Martian reserves as having a major part in the reconstruction. "What we sweated and bled for, they're going to take away and give to someone else."  
  
"People have lost everything out there, Daniel. Mars wasn't hit. Mars was the only human habitation that the Minbari didn't attack."  
  
"Right. They left that to Earth."  
  
"Everyone else has been overwhelmed. Mars didn't lose anything."  
  
"Only our blood. Only our future."  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
It was a long, hard conversation, and neither man could make the other see his point of view.  
  
It was going to end badly, but John pushed, wanting to claim friendship. Aronson, at his coaxing, took the risk of acceptance.  
  
John was going to stay in the service. He and Anna weren't planning to start a family yet and she had work so the bulk of his back pay was going to go into War Bonds and investments. John declared he'd put it all into Mars, and Aronson could tell him which companies needed the capital.  
  
"You're joking."  
  
"The money has to go some place. Why not Mars?"  
  
"All in Mars?"  
  
"Are you saying it's a bad investment?"  
  
"I'm saying EarthGov's not going to _let_ any Mars corp make a profit."  
  
"It's a bet, then." John refused to back down. "And all the more reason why I should. If they take it away it will be my money, not yours, and wouldn't I deserve it?"  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
John was unsurprised when Aronson entered his office a few hours later, looking like a man who thought he'd gone too far. "Sir -- " he began.  
  
John kept his eyes on the report. The Centauri were bringing oxygen and a compact air system to New London Station, and food to Canton Colony. The Narn had already gotten help to the Dakota and Wolf Colonies. Individual League worlds each helped the nearest EA post near their borders. Proxima had been hit hard, but most recently. The reserves taken from Mars were mostly going there, except for what was being sent to the hospitals on Io. Even the Minbari, the report hinted -- That was cold anger in the pit of his stomach. That was an acceptance of their blame that he knew would never be spoken by them: they had been wrong, so wrong even they could see. Not wanting to enflame emotion with their presence, they sent what they sent anonymously, though other races.  
  
"You want to tell me 'Never mind,'" he said to Aronson. "Please don't."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'm afraid you're right," John whispered sadly. When he looked up his face had hardened. "Rebuilding is going to be a long hard job. Except for the people already there, the outer colonies have more to offer than Mars, or that's the common thinking. You're in danger of being forgotten. I want to help."  
  
Aronson's voice was bitter. "If I hadn't made a stink, you would have been blind to it."  
  
"You did your job well," he acknowledged obliquely. "You did what needed to be done. We all did."  
  
  
**=== end chapter eleven ===**


	12. December 30, 2247 Wedding and Remembran...

======  
See chapter one for disclaimers  
======  
  
  
**War Bride**  
by Julie Watkins  
  
**Chapter 12 Date: December 30, 2247 (nine days after the Battle of the Line)**  
  
-*-  
  
  
_"My father told me, 'When you love, love without reservation, when you fighter, fight without fear.' He called it 'The Way of the Warrior.'"_

John Sheridan, _The Coming of Shadows_

  
-*-  
  
  
"With this ring, I thee wed." John slipped the newly polished ring on Anna's finger. His hand was firm; his throat was tight with emotion.  
  
She smiled in relief with the return of the gold band to its customary place, she reveled anew to the touch of his skin to hers. "With this ring, I thee wed," she said to him. Her fingers trembled, as did her voice. The power of the moment near overwhelmed her.  
  
On a cold and lonely evening two years and twelve days before she had declared this as truth: she was Anna Sheridan, Pilot John Sheridan's wife. Under a carpeting of stars, hid from her sight by winter clouds and the walls of her student's apartment, she had challenged the skies, ready to fight to her last breath if any dared say she and her love were not wed. With the solemnity of ritual, the universe was reasserting its mastery.  
  
Anna -- for the last time 'Mathieson' -- wore a simple cream-colored jacket and skirt. A corsage of small red roses pinned to the left lapel. John was in uniform, command insignia temporarily switched to match the pilot's bar and patch that he had worn on the _Eagle_. They stood before Judge Harold Tait in his chambers in downtown Denver. A simple ceremony for a simple hope: life, peace ... a future filled with the promise of love.  
  
John's parents stood by his side. Liz should have been there, but she had been caught by "things to do" for the reception. Anna's parents were there in only in memory. Henry Deasey stood beside Anna holding the framed portrait photograph -- everyone had cried with Anna when she saw that.  
  
Harold Tait's clerks, Ray Shapiro and Kim Byman, stood to one side smiling. Carol had given her camera to Byman and she was quietly snapping pictures. Somewhat against standard procedure, Carol -- not John or Anna -- had filed the "intention to marry" three days before, so the legal "waiting period" was observed and the marriage license could be issued immediately on their return. Tait, a long-time friend of David's had heard rumors of the "game" and was happy to cooperate.  
  
"I can't falsify the date on the license," he explained, "but I asked Ray to make an unofficial document that we can fill in at our whim. I will sign it H. Pageturner, if you don't mind: that's an alias I earned during my college years."  
  
The marriage, as Anna had always intended, was a simple civil ceremony. It had remained unchanged, though the reception and courtship and related adventures had been elaborated upon and reworked countless times in letter and friendly debate.  
  
Once Anna had pushed John's ring to the base of his finger, John took both her hands in his. Judge Tait stretched one hand above their joined hands while he continued to read.  
  
"In as much as Anna and John have consented together in wedlock, and witnessed the same before this company, and have pledged each to the other, and declared the same by the joining of hands, I, in accordance the authority vested in me by the laws and customs of the state of Colorado, hereby pronounce that they are husband and wife." He lifted his eyes from the text and his hand lowered to touch them both. "And in this time of troubles, may all the powers that be keep you both safe and in each other's hearts, though John's duties keep you apart." Words chosen under the threat of battle carried a new meaning now. John would be leaving -- but not so soon as tomorrow morning. Nor was he leaving for battle. There was much to rebuild, but there was also the promise of a new beginning.  
  
Tait closed his book and stepped back. "You may now kiss the bride."  
  
-***-  
  
  
_It was a kiss I will remember to the end of my days,_ John had written of this moment in his first letter to _Anna, my wife. Soft and gentle. A certainty of love to sustain me in this terrible conflict. It broke my heart to leave you._  
  
_It broke my heart to tell you, "good bye,"_ she had answered.  
  
-***-  
  
  
Anna was trembling now, remembering her recent fears. When he broke the kiss, she half-fell against his chest. He held her close, careful of the flowers. He bent his head to her ear to whisper his thanks and love. She whispered agreement.  
  
Hands touched their backs -- it was impossible to distinguish one from another. Hugs were exchanged all around. Henry put down the portrait he carried and joined in. "They are proud of you," he whispered into Anna's ear." Life continued. He then retrieved the camera from Byman and took a few close-ups.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
John, Anna and David had met Carol in the hallway outside Tait's chambers. She and Henry had arrived first, and waited for the military shuttle to bring David and the wedding couple. David had dismissed the shuttle. Eric Deasey was waiting outside with a rented car, the better to avoid journalistic notice.  
  
When the group had entered, Tait's first comment was to look up at John. "You're even taller than I remembered."  
  
"Everyone says that," John muttered, making Anna giggle. It was a repeated teen-age complaint. He knew there would be more of the same at the reception: once he'd entered the academy -- ten years and several months before the war started -- there'd been few family gatherings he'd been able to attend.  
  
Eric made apologies for Liz. "You sister wanted to be here. Don't complain. She was going to try to slip away from _Thomas'_ when she got the 'party' in hand, but guests have already started to arrive. Not to mention reporters. Last I heard she'd taken ten or eighteen comm calls from news services or free lancers, and she had another one on hold. She didn't want to give anyone clues."  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
The anti-intrusion strategy had worked. The family had been left alone in the court building. John held Anna close under his arm as they walked through the hallway. At the door to outside, he shifted to holding her hand. As they stepped outside toward the rented card they were stopped by a hesitant voice. "Lt. Cmdr. Sheridan? John Sheridan?"  
  
His first reaction was to dive into the Limo, but he wasn't being crowded, the voice didn't sound like a reporter.  
  
"Excuse me, sir. I'm a teacher." She looked both embarrassed and determined. "My name is Hope Kanfer. I teach history at Fremont Junior High School." She was nearly incoherent as she explained that the dates had come down for the new school year, and revised lesson plans were due. They were rewriting the curriculum. Part standard history from pre-War, part reconstruction, whatever that might entail. She wouldn't be teaching civil defense, first aid and survival. She wanted a message for her class.  
  
"Life goes on," John smiled ruefully. The enemy had come so close ... then turned and left. "I wish, somehow, we could have avoided all this."  
  
"It can't happen again," Kanfer said firmly, her eyes clouded with remembered fear. "We have to do something. We must find protection." She was flustered, and didn't recognize the significance of Anna's wedding corsage.  
  
John spoke a few words further and they all wished the teacher well. Henry, acting like a chauffeur, held open the back door for the four Sheridans, and then got in front, next to Eric. The strange groundcar/limo was a camouflage; it could also accommodate more passengers.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
Eric took a sight-seeing route though the downtown area, so John could see somewhat of what life on the home front had been. Anna held one of his hands in her own, and used her other hand to point as she told him where to look. Under the war posters and rationing evidence, he could see the effects of delayed repair and upkeep. The city had a layer of shabbiness, desperation, just under the surface. But there were new signs also, hasty and hand-made: "Welcome home," they said. Many were general, some for specific friends and loved ones. John saw his own name on several occasions -- the local boy turned war hero.  
  
Once out of Denver, Carol turned north toward Grand Lake. The reception hall looked over the lake. There would be a beautiful view during diner as the sun dropped behind the mountains.  
  
"That's the lab," Kim Byman said a mile before they reached the restaurant. Carol stopped the car to let her out. "I'll bring the pictures up to the party as soon as they're done. Gary will give me a ride." She had the roll of film safely in her purse. She'd tagged along with the wedding party: her job was to guard the photos. Old fashioned film was a security precaution: there would be nothing digital for reporters to hack into.  
  
"And those will be the carrot we can use to keep the media civilized," David said with approval. "If they want us to release official photos, they'll have to stay on their best behavior." After the call from Senator Durgin, John had refused calls from anyone but other Earth Force officers.  
  
-*-  
  
  
Byman called ahead to _Thomas'_, so Liz was waiting at the entrance. "Hi Johnny. Hi Sis." She wrapped one arm each around John and Anna, and her smile was huge. Then, with a grand manner of "in charge," she hustled everyone to the changing rooms. The building was well equipped for the many celebrations that had happened here.  
  
In short order, John was wearing his tux, fetched from storage back home. It took a bit longer for Anna get into her gown.  
  
"The script gets a bit convoluted here," John said somewhat apologetically. "It's sort of a large jump between the Judge and all this." He was speaking to Henry, but Liz heard the comment.  
  
"You didn't want a fuss," she said, staying in the fiction. "But we weren't going to let you go without a party -- "  
  
John couldn't decide how to respond. Then Anna glided out of the women's room with a rustle of lace, and the game didn't matter any more. The gown was beautiful and romantic. The colorful bouquet she held offset the cream gown. The neckline and the skirt were layers of delicate lace. "It's a perfect fit," he smiled, turning her around. He didn't notice the odd smile she gave in response; he was drinking in the rest of her, fighting a selfish urge to take the dress back off and ditch the party for a few hours.  
  
Anna had understood Carol's small moan, a few minutes earlier in the dressing room, when she had easily pulled the zipper up the back. The first time she had worn this borrowed dress -- to make the "wedding picture" she had sent to John before _Courir_ was destroyed -- it had been too small. John's tux, though he didn't notice it, was much looser than it should have been. Almost everyone was skinnier, from rationing and worry.  
  
"Are the guests all here?" David asked. "Is it time for the introduction?"  
  
"Pictures first!" Liz insisted, still in charge.  
  
"OK, now you're on the left, Johnny. Anna, square your shoulders and look up at him with that same smile." Camera in hand, Liz put them in front of the beige curtains and directed them to stand in the pose she had created earlier. One of the waiters had stood in for John in the first photo, but the "cut and paste" she had done to put John into the picture hadn't quite succeeded. She wanted the "real thing."  
  
"I have to make sure I get this just right." She took several shots, and then let them relax while she took a few candids.  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
John and Anna paused before the entrance, looking at the half-filled banquet hall. "There are many empty chairs," Elytis explained. "My staff did the best we could with your diagram. Another ten minutes -- then it would be good for 'The Entrance.'" Before each chair were place cards. The cards edged in black had no table settings.  
  
_Thomas'_ was a large structure, built on the east shore of Grand Lake. The grand hall was two stories tall. A raised platform for the head table was set against expansive windows that looked out across the lake to snow-covered mountains.  
  
At either end of the hall staircases led down from the second floor. At the proper time, Elytis called attention, and John and Anna stood at the top of the stairs. The company cheered loudly, then the couple came down to accept congratulations and well wishes.  
  
-*-  
  
  
There was a long period for conversation as guests continued to arrive. John got the word that dinner would be ready to serve in a few minutes, and he called for silence. "Could I have my crew here?" His voice and face were solemn.  
  
Quietly, they gathered before the head table. Anna was the only civilian. "When I took command of my ship, the _Samuel Adams_ had a crew of eighty-five, including myself. Forty-eight of you are here for this celebration of my marriage, and I'm glad for your presence. Most of those not here are with their families: we wish them well. Many of us will be reassigned in the next weeks -- we will not again, I believe, have so many of us gathered together. I would like to take this moment to once more say farewell to those of us who can never come home: to those who died in battle."  
  
John's ship had not been fired upon, but half his pilots had been reassigned when he made the ambush plans. Of the pilots stranded at Io, Inga Dolan and Naaman Aref had found alternative transport to Earth. They had missed the earlier memorial service upon the _Sam Adams_. Between them, they spoke the words for the six who had died.  
  
Aronson shifted uneasily as he listened. Turk had made a point of standing next to him when others had paused. He was the only draftee left, and he intended to quit as soon as he could. The way the others looked at him made him feel out of place.  
  
-*-  
  
  
When dinner was served, most guests turned their attention to the meal. Vladimir Jarikov remained standing, pursuing his intend to get close to John. He had managed a ride to Earth, though his ship, the _Lagos_, was still in repair dock, orbiting Mars. There would be elections soon, he knew, and he was hoping to use the unexpected turn-around to his advantage.  
  
When Jarikov saw Ed Butler, Carol's brother, answer a question from the staff, he slipped in, talking like a politician. He hadn't noticed who Ed had been with. David went to the head table to tell his son, "Someone's trying to grab your coattails."  
  
John got up to investigate. He listened long enough to build an angry scowl, and then interrupted. "What happened, happened," he said in quiet anger. Jarikov turned in surprise. "Yes, I killed their flagship," he continued. "It didn't have any effect one way or another on why they surrendered."  
  
"Oh, we can't have that," the would-be senator protested.  
  
John rolled his eyes at Ed.  
  
"Saying such things will ruin your reputation!"  
  
John decided to be dense. "What reputation?"  
  
"You're a War Hero, with a capital 'W' 'H'."  
  
"The hell with that," John gestured to the empty chairs and tables. "They're the heroes."  
  
"You're alive. It's hard to feel good about someone who's dead." Jarikov's voice turned serious. "I appreciate your feelings, but you're going to have to change your tune."  
  
"Huh," John grunted, and his face got dark. "Says who?"  
  
Jack Maynard liked being in the thick of things. "What was that about?"  
  
"Stuff and nonsense," John muttered, happy again that his first CO had made it here. Maynard always had a ready ear to hear complaints about the self-righteous. "Opportunistic pea-brain. _He_ horns himself in here; I'd like to show him the door. I would much rather have Colonel Hague here."  
  
"Hague's not coming? I hear _Valiant_ got here two days ago."  
  
"I kept trying to invite him, he kept saying 'I didn't know you.'"  
  
Maynard snorted. "Sounds like a spoil-sport."  
  
John wasn't used to talking about Hague in that tone of voice. "He was more polite than that, but yes."  
  
"His loss," was Maynard's opinion.  
  
-*-  
  
  
It had taken the waiting clutch of reporters five hours to realize they had been excluded from the wedding. They had been waiting with ill-concealed impatience for Liz to return and announce the date. "He's going to make the decision and let everyone know at dinner," Liz had explained. She refused their request to record the announcement.  
  
As dinner wound down, David declared, "It's time to let our media guests know what they missed." He left the hall and came back a short time later, grinning broadly.  
  
Turk cornered him and asked for a description. David was happy to comply, and they were both soon laughing.  
  
"What are you planning to do now?" he asked when the story was done.  
  
"That's up to Headquarters," the engineer answered. "I figure I'll get grabbed for rebuilding somewhere. I'd like to stay with the _Sam Adams_, but I doubt that's possible. Too much repair work to do, all over the Alliance. Nigg wants to tag along with me. I might be able to give over the ship to Verlich to take care of."  
  
-*-  
  
  
"Your name?"  
  
Guests had continued to arrive. Per John's instructions, anyone in a uniform and with a valid ID was let in at the front door. So Liz, being hostess, stayed with the guest books.  
  
The man briefly considered identifying him self as "Mr. Jones," for he had been one of the censors through whom the Sheridan mail was routed. Now, after the fact, he had concluded they had monitored more closely than necessary. Any mention would be entirely out of line. Young Elizabeth Sheridan was as charming in person as she was electronically. She would certainly recognize the reference.  
  
"Ellis Balmori," he answered, soft spoken. He was short, a bit heavier than average, trim hair beginning to grey. "I'm sorry. I don't have an invitation."  
  
"That's all right. Do you know John?"  
  
_Probably better than anyone present, except his wife._ "Ah, no -- " _They would much rather pretend I never existed._  
  
"Are you looking for someone else?"  
  
"I understand you have memorials here? 8th Navy, 53rd squadron?"  
  
"Oh, gods," her voice got unsteady. "I don't know, I can't remember." She looked briefly stricken, as if this was an insult. She should be able to remember: it was the least she could do. So many had died. She tried to pull herself back under control. "You're welcome to start a new book. There's a stack there," she pointed.  
  
Scattered through the dining area, empty chairs were set for friends or whole ships that had been lost. In front of the black-edged place cards were notebooks where guests could write notes to families of the fallen. Those still living but unable to make the wedding got messages on the back of their menus, which everyone used for autographs. Against the wall, additional memorials were being set up on an ad hoc basis. Early on, Liz had had to make a request of the Restaurant staff to make an emergency excursion for more books.  
  
The process was even repeated in the guest book: people signing for others, either dead or off-world. At times a guest would enter to find his name already signed in the book, and this became a matter to be investigated: "Who thought I was AWOL?" or "Who thought I was dead?" Liz was feeling over-whelmed.  
  
"Ah, I understand," Balmori said gently. "These memorials are expanding rather quickly, aren't they? I'm afraid the word has gotten out and you will be getting many visitors. Would you like help organizing the ranks? I have a talent for this sort of thing."  
  
Liz accepted the offer gratefully. In short order, Balmori had recruited a handful of volunteers and a list and map were being made. He approached Elytis and received permission to take over the lower hall, and have tables moved there.  
  
"Will there be many more soldiers coming here?" Elytis wondered.  
  
"I think yes."  
  
-*-  
  
  
Eventually there were more visitors than chairs, and the empty chairs began to be used by the living. Whatever the sorrow, life goes on -- and that is as it should be. Overshadowing the signs of death, there were symbols of joy, and sounds of laughter and hope. The dead would be remembered even as the future was being built.  
  
There were two round tables at the front that had been draped in black, and the waiters brought no food or drink there. The north table had begun with eight empty chairs but only two memorials books: for the _Jawaharlal Nehru_ and the _Celebes_ -- all hands lost at the Line. The south table had similar books for the _Victory_ and the _Jean Paul Marat_ which had been lost in the Belt. As the night progressed, additional books were added.  
  
Anna watched as a short, dark-haired woman approached the north table, bowed and sat. She opened the memorial book she had brought with her, and began to write on the blank white pages.  
  
Twenty minutes later, the woman was still there. Anna excused herself from her conversation -- she had been getting a report on how her cats had adapted to living to country living -- and approached the table. The woman sat ramrod straight. The uniform looked borrowed, too large for her -- it seemed the bulky cloth hid bandages underneath. Her left sleeve had been cut off below the shoulder and her arm was in cast and a sling. She wrote her letters in careful, painful strokes. Anna stood silent a long while, not knowing what to say.  
  
The officer raised her head. "I'm sorry," she said. She was looking at the pair of black silk roses in their vase at the head table.  
  
Many people had offered their condolences to Anna this day on the death of her parents, but these words had a tone of claiming responsibility. Anna refused to accept the declaration of guilt. "My parents died," Anna said in a quiet voice, trying to accept and be proud of their choice. "What they did saved lives. Don't apologize." Anna carefully reached over the seated woman's shoulder to place her fingers at the bottom of the double column of names, written with a historian's precision. _She must be the only survivor of her ship._ "You've given more than any of us had a right to ask."  
  
"No." The stranger shook her head. "Never enough, if any we stand to protect are harmed."  
  
"No, please. It's all right." Anna vainly tried to keep her voice from making the words a lie.  
  
"My manners," the officer almost blushed. This time, Anna allowed the apology. "Thank you for your kind invitation. May your happiness endure. May your lives be ever filled with love."  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
At the other black-draped table, another young officer sat with his face in his hands to hide his eyes, as if he were crying. Balmori was seated beside him, a hand on his arm, speaking quietly.  
  
A waitress stared at the scene, feeling uneasy. By this stage the banquet tables would have normally been cleared and the setup changed to chairs and scattered end tables. Half of the chairs would ring the dance floor and the rest were clustered with small tables on the far end of the hall, so guests could chose between dancing and conversation. The memorials had interrupted the usual routine. Balmori had moved many of the notebooks to the lower hall, but many remained. Several tables that remained had been those assigned to ships with both dead and living crew.  
  
Elytis noticed the waitresses' inattention to his guests. "Karen," he said.  
  
She did not hear the gentle scolding in his voice. _This is bad luck,_ she thought. "Is this a wedding or a funeral?"  
  
"A war cannot be easily put behind. They have waited long. They have reason not to wait longer. This is a time of joy to help them ease their sorrows."  
  
  
-*-  
  
  
Nora Rainer refilled Aronson's drink. He was sitting in the same chair he had been in during her earlier round, still without a conversation partner.  
  
He was tired and he didn't want to mix. Even after a year's duty on the _Sam Adams_, he had not become accustomed too full earth gravity. The command deck on the ship had been set at .6 G, and quarters had been assigned on decks above or below on the basis of home planet.  
  
"Is there anything else I can get you?" Rainer asked.  
  
Aronson waved the question away. "Wealth and privilege," he muttered.  
  
The words had been said under his breath, but Rainer heard. She put down her pitcher and sat. "You sound angry."  
  
"I should have stayed home," he fumed. "All this you have, and still Earth Dome must steal our life's blood."  
  
"You mean this building?" she gestured at the tall windows and dark wood. "These walls were made before the first Mars settlement. The tables and chairs are ten years old or more. The crystal and service were collected before the Dilgar War. We don't 'waste' -- we take care of what we have. In the same way that Italy is poor, except in artwork."  
  
"You still spend."  
  
"Yes, his family is rich," she defended her employers. "Mr. Elytis is rich. Maybe that meant some things were easier for them than for most people, but I've never seen either use that as an excuse for slacking off. The family is not doing this to show off, they're doing this for all of you, to say 'Thank you.' We're going to be closed at least through Sunday, maybe longer. To keep the memorials going, for anyone who wants to come here." Food service would be down, except to feed the rotating honor guard. The rest of the staff would be getting addresses and preparing envelopes for mailing books and pages to the families.  
  
"Now years down the line Mr. Elytis will get reward for this, but he's more than drained himself of present resources and we're going to have to scramble with friends when this is done. We're doing it because we have to. It'll work out."  
  
John and Anna were on the dance floor. Aronson saw there the easy motion of accustomed power. "They will never want," he told Rainer. "They take for granted everything I have and always will have to fight for every day of my life."  
  
Rainer shuddered, unable to imagine such a life, always living on the edge. The last two years had left her shaking. "Yes, he takes much for granted," she answered, changing her tack. "If the war had gone otherwise -- if the Enemy had destroyed Earth and left the rest of our people to die -- your captain would not have begrudged his loss. -- The loss of his family, yes. Not his position. He would have made no demands on Mars, except for you all to survive. If he had become a refugee on your world ... Wasn't he going to put himself on the front line, ready to die to give other people better able to survive the chance?"  
  
"Yes, he would have died to protect my home," Aronson conceded. _It fit. This was the other side of John Sheridan's promise to invest his back pay into Mars. It was well intended, and his money would do good, once in Martian hands. But it was a typical softie response to a complex situation. Throw money at it ..._  
  
"Tell me about your world." Rainer's voice broke through his musing.  
  
"You can't be serious," he muttered, keeping his eyes where they were.  
  
The anger in her voice made him turn to look at her. "I am." She didn't like being called a liar.  
  
"Why?" he challenged.  
  
"I want to know."  
  
-*-  
  
  
On the dance floor, Maynard cut in when the music changed. John let his mom take him away to greet some late-arriving neighbors, and Anna stayed for another dance.  
  
John found them later in the conversation area, Anna sitting flirtatiously in Maynard's lap. _Some things never change: Maynard always liked to charm the girls into doing that._   
"Anna."  
  
"It's his fault," she explained. When she tried to stand, Maynard held her tightly by the waist.  
  
"Ahem."  
  
"Yeeeessss?"  
  
Everyone was looking now, and the ring of a crystal goblet being tapped was heard, soon joined by others. Maynard let go to grab his own glass and add to the sound.  
  
John lifted her up and held her close. She put her arms around his neck and they kissed. He was getting embarrassed at how often they were being asked to do this. This time Pines only rated them a "6" -- answered by laughter and howls.  
  
"Let me show you," Maynard volunteered. By the way he took Anna's arms he was threatening full mouth. At the last moment he shifted to a gallant hand kiss. Pines held up the "10" placard.  
  
"Just one moment -- " John protested.  
  
-*-  
  
  
McKay wandered over to the _Moyale_ table, drawn by an unfamiliar bald skull. "Hello -- " he began. Then his eyes went wide when he recognized the man as Craig Brown.  
  
"Oh, you don't know the new look," Brown smiled.  
  
_Not another one._ "Damn."  
  
"Don't give me that." Brown pointed a finger into McKay's face, then he grabbed McKay's good hand and placed it, palm down, on his head. "Stubble. Feel it?"  
  
Guarded relief crossed McKay's face. The scalp did feel like sandpaper, and Brown's grip had also been strong, though he had made no move to stand. "I feel it."  
  
"My hair was going to start falling out, and I figured why deal with the mess." The sick look was coming back to McKay's face. "I said, 'don't give me that'! The doctors say I've got a fine chance of winning this."  
  
"Radiation takes aggressive treatment." There were words he didn't want to say: Rationing, triage. The War had consumed everything; it would take years to rebuild.  
  
Brown seemed unconcerned. "Hey, I wear this uniform, I'm everybody's hero." He was on a hospital pass, and would have to return soon. "They all act as if I, personally, saved their butts. It's a nice feeling."  
  
"I still wish -- "  
  
"No. I'd be dead, Bob. They would have killed me. Those bombs _saved_ my life. You and Sheridan got _nothing_ to feel guilty for. There's not _one_ survivor from _Victory_ or _Hong Kong_, and there's only eight who lived from _Nevsky_." He spoke of ships that had engaged in the beginning part of the battle. "They say barely two hundred survived the Battle of the Line. It would have been the same for the Belt without that ambush. I would have been mopped up like the rest if the Bonies hadn't been busy picking up their own lifepods." His eyes turned ugly, and he laughed without humor. "I hope their wards are full. Do you think radiation makes the Bonies' headbones fall off?"  
  
-*-  
  
  
It was late in the evening and John was trading stories with Kostal and other pilots. Suddenly he realized one of the men standing at the _Valiant_ table was someone who shouldn't didn't belong. The man was carrying a small white and silver package.  
  
Swearing happily, John excused himself. He collected Anna and -- his arm protectively around her shoulders -- walked purposefully into the center of room. His target, Colonel Hague, smiled back at him. It had been twelve or twenty times that John had made his invitation, and Hague had refused each time, claiming "I didn't know you then."  
  
Therefore, by the rules of the fiction, Hague was a party-crasher and didn't belong. "Hey!" John called loudly, intended to stage an ouster.  
  
"Happy 30th!" Hague answered just as loud, short-circuiting John's vain attempt at changing his grin into an accusatory scowl.  
  
John blinked and thought on that as he took the last few steps. _Oh, right. I've been "married" thirty months, and this is an anniversary party, as far as the colonel is concerned._  
  
"Good save," Anna giggled, as she welcomed him with a quick hug. She knew it meant a lot to John that he'd managed to attend.  
  
Repeating his comment from before John left _Valiant_ for _Sam Adams_, Hague said, "I'm sorry I missed your wedding, John."  
  
"It _is_ some party."  
  
Hague refused to get tangled in the trap of tenses. "Unfortunately, I can't stay long, but I wanted to give you this." The other duty -- a memorial note for his former XO Oriold -- he had accomplished before John noticed him. He handed Anna the package. The silver pattern on the white wrapping paper was "Happy Anniversary" written in a multitude of scripts.  
  
John put his hands on Anna's waist and looked over the lace on her shoulder as she undid the tab, and pulled a framed photo of a magnolia tree out of the sleeve. "There are other trees on Earth besides Redwoods," Hague commented pointedly to John as they looked at the photo. John recognized the tree as the model for the watercolor Hague had kept in his office on the _Valiant_.  
  
"I asked Cora -- that's my wife," he explained to Anna. "I asked her to have a print made and framed for you. I thought it appropriate." Anna was holding the frame loosely in her hands and Hague carefully turned it so they could see the back. "She could have had the caption put on the front, but I like that she's hidden it."  
  
"'Leal Park, Meridian, Mississippi, December 23, 2247,'" John read. Seven days ago.  
  
It was the same tree, looking as it always had looked. And it was Cora's old friend, that tree. Like Monet and the train station in Paris, she would paint that tree in all light and weather, practicing and refining her technique.  
  
"She took this photo the day after she and our son Pete returned home after the 'all clear,'" Hague explained. Pete was ten years old. Hague was smiling, but in his eyes John could see some small part of the worry he had been hiding behind his mask. His voice was hesitant. As a rule, he was a private man who kept his emotions hidden, but there had been something in Cora's silent message that encouraged him to share this one joy. Between he and she there had been no words needed. "She sent me a scan as her 'welcome home' message," he continued. "As far as that old tree's concerned, none of this happened." He smiled broadly to complete the ritual. "A gift of peace."  
  
Anna turned the frame over and hugged it to her chest.  
  
"Thank you, sir," John whispered.  
  
-*-  
  
  
"They're here!" Liz announced.  
  
There was a sudden crowd around one of remaining side tables as Byman laid out the two sets of photos, the wedding and the portraits.  
  
"Oh, my," Judge Tait muttered. "Do I always look so serious?"  
  
Maynard bent for a closer look. "The Groom looks nervous."  
  
"I do not," John answered. He looked down at Anna. "Was I fidgeting?"  
  
Anna hugged John tightly. "No." She looked dreamily into his eyes. "You were ravishing and romantic and I couldn't wait to get you home." Her hands moved further down his back.  
  
"No," he corrected. "That hasn't happened yet." The tenses were getting tangled again. "Soon," he said in a low voice.  
  
"Kiss!" Maynard bellowed. The hall was soon filled with the cacophony of crystal. John lifted her chin and covered her mouth with his. They had both reached the point where neither of them blushed. It helped that someone had taken the scoring placards away from Pines.  
  
The kiss ended with a long and snugly embrace. When John's eyes came back into focus he saw McKay with a question on his face. "What?"  
  
"I was wondering -- " he said. He wondered about many things. He wondered what their next assignments would be. Probably not the same ship. There were happier unknowns to ask questions about. "I've seen the wedding," he pointed to the photographs. "I haven't heard any stories about the proposal."  
  
"Oh my," Anna said. "That tears it."  
  
"I can tell you!" Liz volunteered.  
  
"Did I just open a can of worms?"  
  
"You might say that.  
  
The proposal had been a quiet day in Denver. John had gotten his orders to leave, and Anna had cried because she had to tell him "Goodbye." They had gotten married by a judge, and he left for the War the next morning.  
  
-- That was what Anna had written in her letter to John. The truth, until now, could not be spoken aloud: that Anna had answered a question that had not been asked; John had happily surrendered for heart and mind to be bound.  
  
When Liz, then John's parents and then others entered into the game the stories had gotten elaborated. Cousin Andrew had declared, "I was there, but they didn't see me. I saw John drop the ring and it rolled down the drain." Soon everyone had their own suggestion in a long stream of competing embarrassments ... until the fear had become too great for gallows humor.  
  
"Well -- " Anna began. The truth was bound in her heart. If she shared those feelings, it would be only with John. Of the other fancies, she did not know how to chose.  
  
John came to her rescue. "I asked her. She said yes." After a fashion, that was as it had happened. It was a minor quibble that John didn't realize how Anna would interpret his words.  
  
Since the married couple was keeping silent, the other participants -- led by McKay and Maynard, new to the game -- decided it was their job to choose the "winning" scenario.  
  
"Hey, whose proposal is this, anyway? Don't I get a say?"  
  
"No," McKay answered blandly.  
  
Liz started her version, which was immediately tangled with innuendo. Anna took a seat in the nearest empty chair. "This is getting entirely out of hand," she stated in as firm a tone as she could manage, trying to stop the debate. As with John, her protests were ignored.  
  
He sank to his knees before her, covering his ears in frustration. This only induced Maynard to increase the volume. "Did you know you look good in pink?"  
  
John's face was buried in the billowing fabric of Anna's dress. Her hands covered his. As the debate continued above them, he grasped her fingers, then pulled them forward and kissed them. He looked in her eyes and saw laughter there. "Dearest Love, will you marry me?" he whispered.  
  
"Yes." Her eyes, her smile, all her face was radiant.  
  
His eyes gleamed likewise. He motioned upwards with his glance. "Do you think we should tell them?" he wondered.  
  
"If they're too busy to notice -- " she harumpfed.  
  
He laughed in agreement. He shifted his feet under him and leaned forward. He tried to ignore the people around him as he took her mouth in a deep kiss.  
  
"Hey!" McKay objected. "I said 'the proposal,' not 'the honeymoon!'"  
  
-*-  
  
  
"One more dance and then we're going home." Home. She liked the sound of that.  
  
It was nearly midnight, the party was winding down. The hall below was empty, except for the guards. Those remaining above had gathered their things onto the chairs behind and stood silent, a broad and comfortable circle, waiting to witness the last ritual.  
  
Anna took John's arm, and he led her to the center, then he took both her hands in his. "My wife," he said in a voice that only she could hear.  
  
"Husband." How his eyes sparkled when she said that.  
  
"This is real."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"This is 2247, not '45 -- Our wedding day."  
  
Her fingers softly trembled. For so long she had protected the "game" as all she would ever have. It was hard to put it in the past.  
  
"Ssshh," he soothed, and cupped her face with his hands. "I don't know if I can tell you what it meant to me when I read that letter, when you called me 'husband' -- "  
  
"I meant it." Her memory went back to that night, her voice battled between fear and joy. It was still hard to believe her fears had not come true. "I didn't want to lose you."  
  
"When I was out there -- " he gestured upwards with a tilt of his head " -- waiting to die, I didn't believe I could feel more 'married.'" His hands moved to her shoulders. Hers clutched at his back. "I was wrong," he whispered.  
  
"Yes." It was time. She smiled up at him. "This is real," she laughed triumphantly. Fate had been kind to them, and they must drink to the fullest of what they had been given. "So much more than I dreamed of. All our lives, I promise you." Everything was new again, waiting.  
  
"Are you ready for the future, Anna?"  
  
"Always, John. Always."  
  
The hall was hushed. Friends and family watched.  
  
He took her right hand in his left, and he put his other hand on her waist. At his nod, the slow pulse of a Strauss waltz filled the hall. In perfect unison, the dance begun.  
  
Time paused as they moved through the captured moment. After the long retreat ... turned forward.  
  
Love.  
  
Forever loved.  
  
  
**=== end story ===**


End file.
